


Bittersweet and Strange (Finding You Can Change)

by pastelfeathers



Series: pastel's dreamnoblade works [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Crack, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pig Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29107581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pastelfeathers/pseuds/pastelfeathers
Summary: “Sire,” it is Dream who speaks this time, apparently over his bout of laughter. He bows slightly when all attention shift to his direction, the movement causing the morning light to gleam off his mask ominously. “I’m afraid what the Elder says is true, the curse will be lifted once you experience true love,” he pauses, likely to compose himself again but Techno can still hear the mirth in Dream’s voice when he speaks again, “usually evident by a true love’s kiss.”“No,” Techno tries again, shaking his head vigorously. “That’s so mean, why, I, I don’t even like women. There must be, no, I, it,” his throat is closing up, but he manages to push out one last desperate shout before he drops his head into his hands in an attempt to hide himself from the ongoing nightmare, “it was just a potato!”Beauty and the Beast AU
Relationships: Clay | Dream/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: pastel's dreamnoblade works [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185617
Comments: 155
Kudos: 673





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this as a self-indulgent pick me up during busy season, updates will be sporadic and dependent heavily on my work schedule.
> 
> I saw this mentioned on a few other stories so pointing out quickly that this is a work of fiction (not at all intended to reflect the actual creators themselves) so please treat the creators with respect and do not share this with them.

Technoblade is twenty when he makes the mistake of offending the wrong person at the annual harvest fair. He had been dragged reluctantly into the city with his siblings, Wilbur having wanted to debut a new song and Tommy having wanted to take part in the festivities. Techno hadn’t been very interested in either, and after a perfunctory round of applause after Wilbur’s performance, he had left to wander around the fair which had taken over the city with brightly coloured decorations. It was, therefore, purely by chance that Techno walked by a hastily erected wooden podium just in time to hear about the largest vegetable contest and made the impulsive decision to enter with his prized potato.

In his defense, how was he to know that beating someone’s record for largest potato farmed would result in this level of retribution?

Though in hindsight, the way the dark skinned villager had shouted at him maybe should have been a clue, but to be fair, it’s hard to take threats seriously when they came from a man who proudly declared themselves to be _‘squidkid’_.

Honestly, in moments like these, Techno despairs at the erudition of their kingdom, poor to the extent that a villager would think squidkid would be an appropriate name for their child.

Tragic lack of education aside, Techno had held up a hand to prevent his guards from imprisoning the insubordinate man, less because he was worried about his reputation as a prince and more because he can respect the other’s passion and dedication to potatoes.

It truly is a wonderful vegetable.

Given that he spared the man a horrid fate of quietly rotting away in the castle dungeons, Techno quickly moved on from the matter and thought nothing of it again for the rest of the day.

Now, in the dim light from the just rising sun streaming weakly through the cobblestone window, he sorely regrets not imprisoning the man.

Techno is normally the calmest of his siblings, an easy feat when considering who his brothers are, but he can admit that the sudden shock of waking up because he had unceremoniously impaled his pillow with his newly grown tusks cracked his usual placid demeanour. He stumbles wildly out of bed and careens unsteadily towards the only full length mirror in his room. He grasps the edges of the mirror with _hoofed_ hands, his brain stutters at the sight of the hooves but he valiantly pushes on, and spends a stunned moment gazing at his newly _pinked_ skin, the full on _snout_ that’s taken place over his old nose and the _giant slobbering maw_ of a mouth that has replaced his previously thin lips.

He also spares a moment of pity for his pillow, which is still impaled sadly on his right _tusk_.

Techno is dimly aware of his brain working furiously to compute with his new reality of being an anthropomorphic **_pig_** , and, when unable to cope with the emotional distress of such a drastic physical change, he silent sympathizes when his brain retreats and leaves matters up to his instincts.

Techno cracks the mirror without another thought, but the broken fragments of his reflection only serves to highlight his new deformity. Distorted glimpses of pink, tusks and hooves mocking him when he peers down and his furious shout brings his guards into the room, and their collective yells of surprise and confusion draws in his siblings from their respective rooms down the corridor within moments.

There is a tense moment where everyone simply pauses, right past the doorway in a huddled and confused crowd, to process what they’re seeing.

Which is just _fantastic_ , Techno loves the intrusion on his privacy and being at the end of such unrelenting staring.

“Well,” Wilbur breaks the silence eventually, eyes wide, “at least it’s a very nice pair of tusks.”

“Yeah,” Tommy chimes in immediately after, wheezing with laughter and tears gathering at the corners of his eyes now that the initial silence has been broken, “you’re a very handsome pig Techno.”

Only Phil ( _lovely, brilliant Phil_ ), is able to focus on the issue at hand long enough to make a sensible suggestion to immediately summon the royal mages.

Techno studiously spends the interval between the summon and the mages' response to crush as much glass under his new hoofed feet as he can, deriving a small sense of pleasure from seeing his reflection slowly disappear underfoot. He does not look up when his guards, and the respective guards of his family, are dismissed with orders to maintain secrecy on penalty of death. Nor does he look up when the court of high mages heed the royal summon from Phil and begin appearing. They arrive one by one through various fantastical means - teleporting into the hallway in a blaze of fire, walking through a brilliant portal of bright green light, solidifying into view from a cloud of smoke - each more impressive and ostentatious than the one before.

To their credit, none of them laugh or gape outright at Techno.

Techno only looks up when the mages circle around him, silently resigning himself to be prodded and poked in the name of progress. He comforts himself with the knowledge that each was a master in their respective field of magic.

So surely, someone would be able to find a solution before Tommy is able to successfully commission the royal painter into commemorating the moment in a portrait.

“Come _on_ , a painting would be brilliant,” Tommy cajols, arms sweeping out in a grand gesture meant to encompass the supposed height and width of the portrait. “Technoblade, the pig years,” Tommy continues, glee in his voice, “Techno, can you imagine? You, in all your pink and piggy glory, situated in the entrance of the Gapple Room.”

Techno decides not to dignify that with a response, choosing to stare plaintively at the gathered mages instead.

 _See?_ He silently pleads, _see what I will have to put up with every single moment I am left in such a pitiful state?_

His plaintive gaze shifts into a glare when Dream, the bastard, meets his eyes and starts shaking suspiciously with muffled laughter. Techno grits his teeth. He is going to dropkick the mage from the highest tower, it would be so cathartic and Dream wouldn’t even be hurt, not with his magically aided parkour ability. 

Techno smoothes his expression into one of neutrality when, a wizened wizard who has been favoured by the court for centuries, shuffles forward and clears his throat. The Elder's face is sunken and wrinkled with age, but his gaze is still unnervingly sharp, brilliant yellow eyes meeting Techno’s without hesitation.

Everyone holds their breath.

“Princeling,” the old man croaks out after a tense second, raising a gaunt finger to thrust it at Techno’s newly transformed face. “The spell is born of hate and fury. As such, it shall only be dispelled once you experience the opposite.”

The other mages make varying degrees of noises in agreement.

All except Dream, who is now facing away from the gathered crowd and shaking harder than ever.

“Ah,” says Phil.

“Wait,” Wilbur questions, “does this mean-”

“No, you can’t mean-” Techno denies at the same time, taking an involuntary step back.

“BRILLIANT,” Tommy manages to shout before he descends once again into cackles, “you have a lisp.”

Techno, stunned into silence, barely reacts when Wilbur grabs hold of Tommy and covers the latter’s mouth up with a hand, muffling the youngest’s continued laughter. 

“Sire,” it is Dream who speaks this time, apparently over his bout of laughter. He bows slightly when all attention shift to his direction, the movement causing the morning light to gleam off his mask ominously. “I’m afraid what the Elder says is true, the curse will be lifted once you experience true love,” he pauses, likely to compose himself again but Techno can still hear the mirth in Dream’s voice when he speaks again, “usually evident by a true love’s kiss.”

“No,” Techno tries again, shaking his head vigorously. “That’s so mean, why, I, I don’t even like women. There must be, no, I, it,” his throat is closing up, but he manages to push out one last desperate shout before he drops his head into his hands in an attempt to hide himself from the ongoing nightmare, “it was just a potato!”

Techno hears, rather than sees, Dream’s wheezing laughter erupt in response.

\---

“So,” Dream drawls out, leaning against the door with his arms propped, “well done.” He’s no longer laughing, or shaking, having finally gotten that out of his system alongside Tommy a while earlier.

Which is just wonderful.

After all, Techno had always worried that Dream and his precocious younger brother wouldn’t ever get along after the former stole some disks from the latter.

Now he need not worry! 

If Dream and Tommy ever need to bond, they can just make _fun_ of Techno together. 

Techno growls in frustration, allowing himself to get louder when the sound only serves to remind him how _bestial_ he’s become.

“Don’t,” Techno warns, or tries to, it’s weird to talk around the tusks.

God, he has _tusks_ now.

“Wow,” Dream gets out after a second, “not going to get used to that any time soon. That’s really uh, a heavy, lisp you got there.”

Techno glares. “Really not helping.”

“Right yeah,” Dream mutters back at him before snickering, apparently still able to find humour in Techno's plight. “A wife,” Dream chuckles, a hand rising up to remove his enchanted mask, revealing the wicked grin that hid beneath, “now’s your chance to finally get over your trepidation around women _sire_.”

It’s _truly_ a talent, only Dream can somehow imbue as much mockery into the word sire.

Techno tries not to groan, “tell me, how are you known as the nicer one? How are you even still a court mage with your flagrant disrespect towards me?”

“I’m charming,” Dream sounds entirely too smug about that.

“So charming, I’m sure it has nothing to do with the enchanted mask or the fake gentlemanly act you put on for your crowds of very misled fans.”

Dream sniffs, lips thinning in mock annoyance, “I am a gentleman thank you very much, unlike a certain second prince I know. And in any case, this isn’t about me. Who told you to compete in a potato contest?”

“It was a largest vegetable harvest contest!”

“What does that matter? You’re a prince!”

“I’m allowed to have hobbies,” Techno bites out, cheeks aflame and shoulders drawing up in indignation, then pauses when he feels his ears flicking back in frustration.

Very weird.

Ears are not meant to _wiggle_.

“Only you, honestly, it’s a miracle this hasn’t happened earlier.”

“What?” Techno demands, “what does that mean? I’m just an innocent potato farmer.”

“You’re the prince in line for the throne, everyone knows that Wilbur has no interest in governing and Tommy is too young to reign,” Dream counters, brows furrowing in annoyance as they settle into an old and familiar argument, “your potato farming days are over.”

“Never, now that I bear the crown of the potato king, I shall not rest for I must defend my title from usurpers who would seek to have me dethroned.”

“I,” Dream’s cheeks are reddening, the way they do when Techno says something particularly audacious and the man is seconds from either laughing or cursing Techno out. “What is wrong with you,” Dream gets out, cheeks fully flushed now, “why would you put so much effort into potatoes when you should be worrying about the inheritance of a kingdom?”

“What do you mean effort? You have to put in the right amount of work in order to harvest a majestic vegetable like the potato.”

There is a moment of silence before Dream breaks into cackles again, wheezing with laughter and nearly doubling over. “You’re completely ridiculous.”

Techno isn't sure if it's imagination and wishful thinking, but the remark sounds almost fond and when he looks over, his breath catches.

Dream’s eyes are crinkled and teary but still a brilliant green, and that, combined with the dark blond hair and rosy cheeks, makes for a very attractive image.

Techno swallows against the sudden, but unsurprising, feeling of desire and looks down.

Great.

He’s not certain when he started feeling like this towards the mage he’s only known for a few months, but if he was wary of saying something before. He’s absolutely never going to say anything now.

Never.

He’ll die first.

Or stop farming potatoes.

Honestly, he’s not sure which one is the worse fate of the two.

Techno flexes his fingers and distantly registers how odd it is to see his nails, once perfectly dull, now become a set of sharp black hooves.

Perfect.

This is just what he needed.

Not that he had been thinking of proposing to begin a romantic tryst to Dream, of course he wouldn’t, that would be stupid. He absolutely had not been thinking of trying to win the mage’s affections through prolonged exposure to his company and random gifts to support the man’s passion for escape and parkour.

Not at all.

And now.

Now-

“Hey.”

Techno inhales sharply when a tanned hand reaches out to rest on top of his. He hadn’t even noticed Dream moving closer, lost as he had been in his ever more maudlin thoughts.

“It’ll be fine,” Dream says quietly, “trust me.”

“Oh really?” Techno bites his lips, hissing when he actually breaks skin as a result of the tusks. “And what will a homeless mage like you be able to do?” He regrets saying it as soon as the words are out but it’s too late.

Dream’s whole body tenses, and his eyes are hard when he smiles again. It’s mean and full of teeth. “What is wrong with you,” he spits out, “Technoblade, I, what the hell is wrong with you that you can’t just let me-” 

Techno looks up.

“Let you?” There’s a terrible fluttering thing with wings flitting fiercely in between the sudden thumping of his heart, it feels like hope.

But Dream’s mask is on again, face hidden and unreadable.

“Let you what?” Techno demands again, suddenly desperate to know, because it sounds as if maybe, his misguided affections might not be one-sided like he feared, and he knows better than to push Dream when the man is clamming up but he can’t let this moment fade. “Tell me what you were planning to say.”

It comes out as a command rather than a question.

Techno realizes in a split second, that he’s made a mistake, that he should know better than anyone that Dream would hate the implication of being under anyone's command, even if it's Techno. He should have asked, pleaded, used any other tone.

"Dream-"

As if on cue, a bright green portal flares into existence behind Dream. 

“Fuck you Technoblade.”

 _If only_ , Techno laments silently and slumps back into his bed after the green portal disappears in a searing flash of light.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge shout out to the eternally amazing demononthewry and Blue_Moon08 for being so patient and helpful (the best beta readers one could have asked for)!
> 
> As always, writing this for a fun pick me up at the end of a long week so updates will continue to be sporadic (and may become more erratic as I end up doing more drabbles on the side).

Dream realizes that Technoblade is dangerous in stages.

Surprisingly, the initial realization does not come from the second prince besting him in a widely spectated combat tournament with an eventual score of six to four. Dream isn’t delusional. He is aware of his strengths, and it does not lie in physical strength or combat ability.

Outside of simulated battlegrounds, neither skills matter much if one can’t catch their opponent, and Dream is nothing, if not the best, escape artist in all the twelve kingdoms.

That is to say, he’s not surprised that Techno won, and he’s not afraid of the other as a result of the loss.

He also does not identify the danger Techno poses when, the mad lunatic, simply asks for Dream to accept the title of honorary court mage of his kingdom, instead of demanding any plethora of secrets or techniques within Dream’s disposal. 

Dream has travelled throughout the twelve realms. There is very little outside of his knowledge and most of his opponents seek his defeat in order to gain entry to realms beyond their comprehension and information unavailable in common literature. 

Still, Dream accepts the offer, even if he is wary. Attending court sessions twice a year and the conditional promise of help in times of strife is much lower than the price Dream had been expecting to pay. 

So if Dream had any opinion on his opponent at the time of his very public defeat, it was that the second prince was a fool, squandering the one chance he had at tethering Dream’s tenuous grasp of loyalty to his empire.

It isn’t until two weeks after the competition that Dream realizes with a start that he’s stayed in one location for fourteen days in a row. He settles down to think after the initial panic and it becomes immediately clear that, with Techno’s constant offers for rematches, Dream’s been so caught up in competing with the man that he simply lost track of time.

It’s a chilling realization.

Regardless if this was intentional on Techno’s part, the other man’s ability to supersede Dream’s goal to remain unshackled to any kingdom, organization, or individual is to be avoided at all costs.

So Dream does what he does best.

He runs.

He expects anger, driven by a misplaced sense of betrayal, and vast numbers of troops demanding his return.

But a week goes by and there is nothing, not even a whisper.

It’s as if-

As if his absence was barely _missed_.

Which is frankly ridiculous, because he and Techno spent an unfailingly embarrassing amount of time together when he was still in the castle. 

The prince must have noticed.

Dream broods for a day before he decides that his absence must be missed and the lack of action observed from the capital is likely because Dream has gone out of his way to be as elusive as possible, disappearing by means of his portal in the dead of night and leaving no note or trace of his destination.

 _Right,_ Dream assures himself, the Antarctic Empire is missing him, and they just can’t find him. He needs to give them a chance.

So he begins to drop little hints in the following week, allowing his mask to be seen by travellers on the road or doing some small chores for ailing villagers in exchange for shelter instead of camping out in the forest during the night.

But a week goes by and still nothing.

Dream is not _disappointed_ , and he definitely does not go out of his way to circle closer to the Antarctic Empire’s capital.

That would be foolhardy.

And yet.

Sitting in a cosy tavern in a town much closer to the castle than he would like to admit, Dream resists the urge to smack himself. Instead, he does the mental equivalent and forcibly reminds himself that he doesn’t care, he doesn’t want to be chased-

“Huh,” says a rather placid voice right beside him.

Dream tenses when a figure slowly materializes into view in front of him as the effects of an invisibility potion wears off to reveal none other but the second prince.

Techno is wrapped in a conspicuously dark cloak, much too black to be a commoner’s. It is also immediately obvious that the fabric is not covered by a speckle of dust.

Dream mentally scoffs at the other’s poor attempt at subterfuge.

“A tavern,” Techno continues with a rather put-off sigh, eying the brawling drunkards by the door with a pinched look. “Really, this is hardly a challenge.”

Dream stares for a moment.

In the warm light of the gaslights within the tavern, Techno’s red eyes are dark and striking, and his normally pale skin is burnished to a lovely shade of bronze. But, more important than Dream’s sudden awareness of the prince’s indisputable physical attractiveness, is the man’s audacity to sound _bored_. 

As if Dream is _disappointing_ the man.

“For being the best escape artist there is, I caught you remarkably fast,” Techno says, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

The amount of disrespect is inexcusable.

Dream, unable to resist rising up to the provocation, rips open a portal in plain view and makes his escape. He flashes through several portals, one after another, before landing silently in his room at the castle, grinning despite himself as the adrenaline from the chase courses through his veins.

The man must have used a magic signature tracker, but no matter, he’ll be gracious and give Techno a bit of time to chase through his magical residue. Dream has encountered trackers before and the easiest counter is to leave so many signatures behind that it effectively blinds his opponents to his true movement-

“Are you trying?”

Dream spins around.

Techno is still in the same ridiculous cloak, striding imperiously into the room before pausing right in front of Dream with a rather amused look. 

As if he was indulging a small child at play.

Dream internally seethes.

“How?” he demands.

Techno shrugs and, instead of answering the question, goes onto goad, “Why are you so bad at this? Thought you were supposed to be the best.”

How dare he.

Dream collects himself for a moment before he’s gone again, another portal transporting him to an entirely different realm.

He is undeniably petty this time, leaving no trace of himself behind. No clues, no whispers of his whereabouts, even forgoing contact with his friends in favour of anonymity. Nothing that Techno could potentially utilize to track him down.

Dream is going to win this hunt.

He is so secure in his victory that, after two weeks of constant travel, Dream allows himself to pause long enough to take a short interlude at one of his favourite hideouts - a rather primitive world with lush vegetation, flowers twice as tall as the average human, and devoid of any life forms beyond the rare marine critter.

So it comes as an absolute shock when, one sunny morning on top of a hill which overlooks a lovely waterfall and glade, two whole empires and an entire realm over, a rather fetching falcon lands on his shoulders perfunctorily when it sinks its impressive talons into his unprotected shoulder.

It holds out a leg.

 _Got a new challenge when you think you’re ready for a rematch,_ says the scrolled up slip of paper tied to the falcon.

No name.

Just the hastily scribbled message.

Not that there was a need to disclose any names. Somehow Dream knew, with absolute certainty, that the message came from Technoblade.

Dream curses and rips the paper in half.

The falcon shifts with his movement and cocks its head.

Before Dream is able to come up with a response, it pushes off his shoulder and launches into the skies once more, where a purple portal has ripped open, and through which it glides calmly into and out of view. 

Apparently, Techno didn’t even expect an answer.

Or he already anticipated Dream’s response and thus needed no confirmation.

Both options are equally vexing.

Dream stares at the sky long after the portal has closed, trembling with a furious sense of delight. On the one hand, he truly does enjoy the chase and it’s been a long time since someone has been able to present themselves as a proper adversary in these arbitrary manhunts. On the other, he appears to have been temporarily bested, in the one arena of which he had thought himself the indisputable champion.

And Dream despises losing.

Technoblade.

What an utterly infuriating man.

But, despite his furore, Dream is also dismayed to find himself, horribly and thoroughly _intrigued_.

Because for the first time in his life, he’s met someone who he can passably acknowledge as his equal and Dream wants to break him apart, to examine the pieces until he understands what makes the man tick. 

And this.

This is why Technoblade is _dangerous_.

Because no one has ever made Dream this desirous before.

It’s terrifying.

It’s _exhilarating_.

\---

“He’s such an asshole,” Dream gets out between gritted teeth.

Sapnap and George share a look, somehow conveying their mutual exasperation through the green portals’ slight bobbing motion.

“He did get turned into a pig,” Sapnap points out reasonably.

George makes a noise in agreement. “Hard not to be a bit sympathetic, mate.”

“He deserves it,” Dream spits out. “Who told him to keep farming potatoes when he should rightfully be focused on inheriting a kingdom?”

The disbelieving look his fellow mages give him rankles at him. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” George says cautiously, “just surprised you’re even interested in the politics of the empire.”

“Oh drop it,” Sapnap says with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t let him hide behind the excuse of politics and pretend like he’s not just worried about his precious prince.”

_Wait, what?_

Dream glares at the two portals, each depicting the face of one of his most trusted friends, alternating so both can experience the full extent of his displeasure.

“I’m not worried,” he refutes. “I only went because I was summoned.”

There is a moment of silence when all three reflect on the pure falsity of that statement.

“And since when,” Sapnap points out slowly as if speaking to a particularly stupid child, “have you given a shit about royal summons?”

“I give a shit.”

The identical looks of disappointment on Sapnap’s and George’s faces force Dream to grin despite his annoyance. In hindsight, his lie is rather comical. They both knew him too well and for too long to buy the weak excuse. 

“Okay fine, I don’t give a damn about the summon. I was just curious, happy?”

“Finally,” mutters Sapnap. Then, louder, “By any chance, were you also going to admit that you care about your pink-haired prince today or should George and I just leave you to your pure-hearted pining?”

“What,” Dream squawks out, torn between feeling thankful that his mask is hiding his slowly flushing cheeks or horrified that he’s blushing in the first place, “I’m not pining for the prince.”

“Oh, woah, progress,” George is laughing, the bastard, “he didn’t deny that he cares.”

Sapnap joins in, wiping tears from his eyes.

Dream splutters, “Wait what- no, n-no that’s not true. It’s not true. No, it’s not true.” 

He’s not sure why he repeated it three times, if anything, he’s feeling less convinced the more he says it. In retaliation, he flicks his hands at the two portals. 

“You guys are idiots.”

“Uh-huh,” Sapnap says, one eyebrow-raising slowly, “we’re the idiots. Despite being a nomad for essentially the past two years, you managed to somehow become the court-appointed royal mage to an empire and develop squishy feelings for a prince known for his bloodlust and distaste towards romance all in the span of a few months. And we’re the idiots. _Us_.”

Dream lets out an inarticulate groan of frustration. “When you put it like that, I sound like-”

“An idiot?” George points out amicably, a placid smile on his face.

“You’re both assholes.”

“And yet, I don’t hear a denial.”

“I don’t like him like that,” Dream tries again. As an afterthought, he tacks on, “He’s just an interesting opponent.”

“That you talk about. Every. Single. Time.”

“He’s just,” Dream stops himself and tries to wrack his brain for an example, “different is all. Like, come on, what prince is willing to throw away the inheritance of an empire in order to figure out how to best farm potatoes?”

“Have to say, really not sure who you’re trying to convince here,” George comments, slowly raising an eyebrow and mirroring Sapnap's skeptical look.

“I’m hanging up,” Dream gets out. He smiles in vicious satisfaction when the portals immediately close, interrupting his friends’ protests.

_Ridiculous._

He doesn’t have romantic feelings for Techno.

He just begrudgingly admires the superiority of some of the man’s skills.

It’s not like they spend whole days together competing or arguing or anything...

The conversation from earlier flashed through his mind, causing Dream to growl and fling a nearby book into the cobblestone wall. It smacks against the wall hard and drops unceremoniously onto the floor with a loud satisfying slapping sound.

_What had he been thinking? Since when did he care enough to offer his assistance, free of charge?_

Dream resists the urge to throw yet another book when he involuntarily recalls his earlier words, yet again.

_And what the fuck had he been about to say before his brain caught up with his mouth?_

_What would have happened if he hadn’t fled?_

Dream hisses out a breath in between his teeth, trying not to kick his desk or wreck any more of his personal property.

It baffles him to concede that, somewhere along the way, he’s begun to think of Techno, his main competitor, in an amicable light and established a friendly rapport with the man.

_When did the unwilling curiosity turn into actual fascination?_

_When did he stop thinking of Techno as just another boorish noble whose hobbies include being an asshole to all those in his vicinity?_

Not to say Techno isn’t an asshole.

He absolutely is.

But, Dream didn’t leave just because of the man’s ungracious jab at Dream’s inability to settle down and build a home. 

Techno is an asshole the majority of the time, and somewhere along the months, Dream’s built an impressive tolerance to the other man’s predilection of being a normal human one moment and a giant jackass the next. Much in the same way one gets used to a particularly scratchy piece of clothing - repeated exposure to the damn thing until its unpleasantness has been worn down to a tolerable level of softness.

But Techno is still damn dangerous.

And that hint of something in the prince’s voice when he asked Dream what he was about to say had caused Dream’s heart to speed up in his chest. 

Dream has never felt that outside of parkour before - that heady sense of adrenaline he feels when he drops out of the highest clouds and faces the ground rushing towards him at sickening speed with a laugh and open arms, summoning a portal mere moments before impact.

Somehow, despite all odds and using only his words, Techno had made Dream feel the emotional equivalent of standing on the edge of a precipice readying for a free fall.

And more disconcertingly, Dream had been about to do it. He had been about to offer his skills at the disposal of a man he’s only slowly starting to understand, just for the chance of-

_Of what?_

_Of being acknowledged by the prince?_

Not that he even knew where to begin.

Dream has always had more of an affinity to wind and water magic than anything else, having only ever been interested in spells which would improve his ability to fly faster, glide further and escape to even deeper depths.

_How would he even go about finding a cure besides true love’s kiss? Or had his stupid mouth intended to offer to help Techno find his true love?_

_Or,_ a small treacherous voice that sounds suspiciously like Sapnap pipes up, _maybe you wanted to be Techno’s true-_

 _No,_ Dream curses himself silently, then he curses Sapnap and George out loud for good measure. 

“I am not interested in Technoblade,” he reaffirms to the silent room.

_And he had touched the prince’s hands because?_

“They were hooves,” Dream justifies to the still quiet room, “that was the only reason.”

It sounds weak, even to his own ears and, in his frustration and confusion, even the air seems to be doubting him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely people on the dnb discord for indulging in my random questions (and providing me with their comments/thoughts)!
> 
> Same as before, a shout out to the eternally amazing demononthewry and Blue_Moon08 for beta reading this chapter! :)
> 
> Finally, as always, writing this for a fun pick me up at the end of a long week so updates will continue to be sporadic (and may become more erratic as I end up doing more drabbles on the side).

Technoblade is living a perfectly respectable life as a second prince when he is turned into a pig by a petty, malicious little squid-

What, no, he’s totally not holding a grudge, not at all. He’s not wondering if it would be legally considered torture to hire goons to poke his nemesis every few hours so he can never rest peacefully again and-

 _Ahem_ moving on.

He absolutely enjoys being confined to his royal chambers and being unable to train or see his potatoes.

He _loves_ it.

“Techno, Techno, Techno,” chants Tommy, jumping onto Techno’s bed, “I just thought of a fantastic idea. It is pure genius and you are going to love it. Okay, so, we hold a ball you see, and we make it a _pig_ themed ball. It’ll be grand and-”

“Tommy,” Techno interrupts.

“Yes?”

“Please leave.”

“Aww, why?” Tommy complains, “C’mon Techno, don’t be a spoilsport! I’m genuinely trying to help you Technoblade. A ball is a perfect way to meet some ladies and a themed ball is a perfect way to hide your, er, your-”

“Huh,” Wilbur’s voice carries over seconds before he is also on the bed...wait what? Since when did his bed become the gathering spot for the family?

“That’s actually not a bad idea? We can broaden the theme to animals as opposed to just pigs.”

“Yes!” 

Tommy snaps his fingers in Wilbur’s direction. 

“That is brilliant. Can you imagine Techno,” and now he’s back in Techno’s face again, “just imagine it. A beautiful ballroom, full of the most gorgeous ladies of the twelve realms, then the crowds part, and you see that one special girl, dressed in a pink dress. She’s beautiful, she’s serene, she’s also dressed like a pig and-”

“Wait,” Wilbur interrupts, holding up a hand, “Tommy. What noble lady would depict herself as a pig?”

Techno is starting to get a headache. 

He misses the days when he could escape his well-meaning family.

But until the matter is resolved, he is to stay out of the public’s eye.

“Well, I’m sure plenty of ladies like Techno. If we tell everyone in advance what animal we’ll be, surely, I mean surely, someone will take the initiative to dress up like our counterparts,” Tommy defends.

“No thank you,” Techno finally cuts in, concerned that he is in danger of actually having to attend a damn ball if he allows this madness to continue. “Are we really all buying into the idea of true love’s kiss? And even if we are, which I do not, are we all absolutely certain that a ball is a way to go about finding-” Techno sighs heavily, it sounds stupid even in his head, “-my true love.” 

He raises an eyebrow at his siblings.

“Do we all really think that my true love,” Techno grimaces, he’ll learn how to say that seriously one day, but not today, “will be the kind of person who attends balls?”

There is a pause.

“Yeah, okay, forget it, you’re fucked,” Tommy remarks at last. He throws himself back so he hits Techno’s mattress with a soft thump.

Wilbur hums. 

“Well,” he drawls, a knowing gleam in his eyes that immediately sets Techno’s alarms on alert, “the ball won’t just be for nobility will it?”

Techno narrows his eyes as a warning.

Wilbur just smiles back, seemingly innocent. 

But Techno knows better.

The oldest prince may seem like a kind-hearted, mostly soft spoken bard, but the innocuous exterior hides a truly nefarious interior.

Case in point:

“I’m sure others will attend. The royal guards are usually present, foreign dignitaries are a given,” Wilbur lists out with a smirk, “court _mages_ -”

Techno growls.

“What?” Tommy questions from the mound of pillows, sensing the change in atmosphere and immediately perking up, “hold up, what did I miss.”

“Don’t you dare,” Techno threatens without taking his eyes off of his older brother, “I will break your stupid lute. I swear to everything that is unholy, I will break all your lutes, Wilbur. I will tell my goons to heckle you at your shows. I-”

Wilbur snorts. “Yeah, nice try, like you two haven’t broken enough of my instruments over the years for me to no longer have sentimental attachments to anything. And what goons?”

“I will find some,” Techno defends, then, seeing the growing determination in Wilbur’s eyes, makes the impetuous decision to change tack, “I am _begging_ you, do not tell-”

“Wait,” Tommy is sitting up now, his gaze calculating as it flickers between the two older princes, “what does, wait, hold up. I got this.”

“No,” Techno immediately says, turning away from a still smirking Wilbur to grasp desperately at Tommy. “You know what Tommy? Your idea is brilliant, let’s have a ball. I love balls. So much. And I love masquerades. You’re a genius, let’s plan out the details.”

Tommy squirms irritably against Techno’s hold. “Stop,” he commands, “I know you’re hiding something. What did Wilbur say-”

“How about the painting?” Techno tries in a last-ditch effort, “I also have a strong passion for paintings, let’s commission a painting-”

“Oh my god,” Tommy says, eyes wide and suddenly alarmingly still on the bed. “Technoblade,” he says slowly, “do you like someone?”

“No,” Techno denies, shifting so he can loom over the youngest, hoping to intimidate the latter into dropping the conversation topic. “No, that is a moronic idea, I don’t believe in love Tommy, we just went over this.”

“What?” Tommy squawks, a wide grin beginning to stretch over his face, “who said anything about love, Techno?”

Wilbur is shaking. 

“Yeah,” he manages to gasp out amidst snickers, “who said anything about love?”

“Nope,” Techno says after a beat, “this is not happening. I reject this reality. This is not canon. We’re done here. Get out of my chamber you hooligans. I dismiss your idiotic selves from my presence.”

“Who do you love?” Tommy is shouting now, delight evident in the toothy grin that’s taken over his face.

Wilbur is laughing hard enough to curl over on the bed and Techno is childish enough to try and kick at the brunet with his new hooves, making him hold the area he just kicked.

Ha!

Take that Wilbur.

Techno stepped on himself the other day, while trying to figure out if he can still jog in this form, and found out first hand how much his new hooves hurt.

“No! Technoblade,” Tommy insists, climbing closer and grabbing hold of Techno’s new tusks to anchor him into place, “don’t run from love Techno. We’re here for you. I’m here for you. I can be your matchmaker!”

“This isn’t happening,” Techno says, trying to pry Tommy’s hands off his tusks. “Nope. Seriously, will you stop? I do not need your help.”

“So you are in love!”

“No. No. Hey, no, stop, I can see your brain coming up with terrible ideas and I want it to stop. Do you hear me? Wha- Tommy, get back here! Don’t you dare-”

But Tommy is out the door before he could finish his sentence.

In the silence left by his wake, Techno glares mulishly at Wilbur, who is still wheezing from laughter.

“All your lutes Wilbur,” he promises darkly.

\---

“Prince Technoblade, may I present my youngest?” 

Techno smiles faintly at the portly duke in front of him before bowing and carefully pressing a polite kiss to the proffered hand, cautious of the placement of his new tusks.

He’s not keen to inadvertently start a blood feud with a noble family because he irreversibly disfigured a young lady in an unfortunate maiming accident, thank you very much.

Up close, her glove is perfumed with lavender essence, strong enough to irritate Techno’s new snout, being significantly more sensitive to smells. He hides a grimace against her hand.

“A pleasure,” he says once he straightens up, but the smile he gives her is forced.

“Well,” the noble says with a loud guffaw, oblivious to the awkward reluctance in Techno’s stiff form, “I’ll leave you youngsters to your conversation.”

The girl, and she is a girl, likely barely in her teens, titters demurely and bats her lashes at him.

She is dressed in a cotton pink dress which absolutely engulfs her in some form of bejeweled fabric, and with the cinching and ribbons located where they are, Techno is faintly reminded of a smushed princess cake he had seen when he was younger. She tugs at her soft, pink pig mask in what is likely meant to be a coquettish manner.

“The pleasure is all mine,” she says with a flirtatious smile. “May I compliment your highness on his dedication to the theme?”

Techno hides a wince. 

He might not blame his conversation partners for bringing up the rather blatant fact staring them in the face - he is an anthropomorphic pig after all - but it also does not mean that he has to like the consistent reminder.

“Ah, thank you,” he replies shortly instead and lapses into a terse silence. Techno has never quite liked social events as much as his siblings. Understandably, he enjoys them much less now.

But the machinations to his downfall had begun as soon as Tommy got the idea into his perplexing whirlwind of chaos which he calls a brain, so here they all were.

Unwilling to subject himself to a longer conversation and thankful that the queue of individuals seeking his company is considerably less than that of his family’s, Techno tries to not actively flinch when the girl in front of him gives a credibly amused laugh and fans herself with a similarly pink fan.

Techno sighs inwardly when she tries another topic, appearing rather motivated in her quest to engage him in a proper discussion.

Not for the first time, that Techno wishes that one of his family members is with him. They have an unspoken pact to not leave Techno alone at these gatherings, but today that unanimous protocol appears to be flagrantly disregarded.

To the one side, Wilbur is holding court amidst his many admirers, which is composed mostly of swooning debutantes and a few rather open-minded gentlemen, all of whom are made up to look like brown birds. 

A snide voice that sounds entirely like Wilbur in his head snippily reminds him, _nightingales._

Whatever.

Either way, the castle staff are going to have an absolute nightmare trying to clean up all the lost feathers wafting around.

Across the ballroom, Tommy is similarly preoccupied, though with a noticeably younger crowd. It is immediately evident that most seem to just be enjoying the close proximity to the younger prince and are content to just listen to his cheerful chatter. All are predictably dressed to match Tommy’s racoon disguise, though unlike Tommy’s full suit made entirely of black and gray, most others opted for no more than a mask and some colour appropriate accessories.

Techno narrows his eyes slightly when he notices one extremely forward admirer reach out and stroke Tommy’s arm. He makes a mental note to accidentally bump into the woman later on and have a nice, _long_ chat about propriety and age-appropriate romances when he sees Tommy politely drawing his arm away, a slight pinch to his brows the only signs of his discomfort.

He’s so busy observing the others that he barely hears the attempts to draw him into further exchange from the girl in front of him. He hums distantly in response to whatever she says last and notices the extent of her displeasure only when she huffs in barely concealed disappointment.

Oops.

“My lady,” drawls a familiar voice from behind.

Techno tenses, but does not turn around.

The girl, whose name escapes him, is flushing a rather becoming shade of red. 

“Mage Dream,” she breathes out dreamily, “it’s such an honour.”

“My sincerest apologies,” Dream says, sounding closer now and somehow genuinely contrite, “but I have urgent matters to discuss with his highness and must ask that you excuse our poor manners.”

Techno barely hears the rest of the conversation, too busy panicking at the feel of Dream’s hand on his shoulder. He only shakes himself out of the stupor when the girl walks away with a perfunctory curtsy and leaves him alone with Dream.

They fall into silence.

Minutes tick by.

It is amazing how silent it can be, despite being surrounded by vast amounts of people and an enthusiastically playing band in the same ballroom.

Yeah.

He’s having so much fun.

He quit hiding in his room for this.

“So,” Dream says eventually, thankfully sounding very much his normal snarky self and not at all like someone who is still holding a grudge, “I’m beginning to see why you haven’t been in a relationship before. That was some eye opening levels of embarrassment.”

Which is just plain unfair.

Techno turns partly, mouth open to snark back, even as the sheer relief of hearing Dream’s normal ribbing leaves him feeling wobbly legged. After the last disastrous discussion, he really had half thought Dream might disappear again, and with Techno’s appearance being what it is, tracking the mage down had not really been an option.

He also couldn’t send goons after the man, not without giving away how he’s been able to track Dream down, which seems like information that could easily fall into the wrong hand if loose lips waggled after a couple pints or a few bags of coin.

Still, Techno is ready, he’s going to apologize and smooth over their relationship. 

He is.

He’s absolutely not going to turn around, see Dream properly for the first time that night, and become momentarily mute.

“Wha-” is he manages to say before his brain fails him and the words promptly die on his lips.

Dream is dressed in a dark forest green suit, apparently having foregone his usual lime green clothing for the sake of the ball. The wide notch lapel draws attention to his crisp white shirt and the opening in the top few buttons where he can see a glimpse of Dream’s smooth, tanned throat.

If that isn’t devastating enough, when Techno tries to avoid the sight of the skin by looking up and away, he catches sight of a pair of soft looking cat ears protruding from the sides of Dream's face where his normal ears used to be. As Techno gazes on in a stupefied silence, the pointed chestnut ears flick back and flatten slightly against the man’s tousled blond hair.

“What?” demands Dream defensively, as a long, similarly coloured, tail swishes distractingly from behind the mage.

Techno swallows.

“Heh?!” he gets out, desperately wishing for his brain to come back online long enough to string together a comprehensible sentence.

Dream’s face, no longer hidden behind the usual smooth mask, is now covered by a half mask with peepholes angled delicately upwards in a manner reminiscent of feline eyes. The eyelets are also wide enough that Techno can see the slow narrowing of the other man’s eyes as Techno continues to gawk in slack-jawed silence.

“Cat got your tongue, _sire_?”

The smirk lifting the corner of Dream’s mouth is absolutely fatal.

Techno makes a frantic sound at the back of his throat. He’s not prepared to see Dream when the man is dressed like some guilty fantasy from the kingdom’s more depraved plays, and especially not when the man’s usual devastating wit is fully focused on perpetuating that mocking banter that always had Techno flushing hotly underneath his collar.

“I don’t even like cats,” Techno laments, genuinely bewildered and dismayed by his own inability to function normally in the face of Dream’s themed outfit. So lost is he in his own befuddled self-pity, that it takes a second to realize he’s said the sentiment out loud.

Dream’s smirk has faded into a pursed look.

_Abort._

“Seriously,” Dream mutters indignantly, “I saved you from that monstrosity in pink and you turn around and insult me.”

 _Thank you,_ Techno wants to say, but what he blurts out instead is, “it wasn’t that bad of a dress.”

Which, what.

It was, that dress had been bad.

Techno steps back.

He genuinely thinks he needs a moment away from Dream to remind himself that he is not a blithering idiot and that he absolutely needs to stop shoving his foot into his mouth.

Hoof.

He has hooves now.

That’s not going to be a pretty picture.

Dream’s cheeks are colouring, as a familiar mulish look steals across his face, an unfortunate reminder that a majority of their interactions inevitably result in Techno saying or doing the wrong thing and getting on Dream’s nerves. 

“What,” the blond says in a harsh whisper, then visibly regroups himself because his voice is flat when he continues, “that. That’s what you’re into.”

“Heh?”

**_Abort!_ **

“Dream,” Phil calls out from behind, breaking the tension that’s fallen and Techno could kiss the ground his father walks on. 

As Dream turns around to properly bow, Techno takes the moment to flash a panicked expression at Phil, hoping against hope that he’s able to convey his need to make a quick escape from the conversation before he embarrasses himself further.

Phil smiles back placatingly, giant wings tucked carefully behind his back, purportedly chosen to still uphold the spirit of the themed ball whilst toning it down for the benefit of his responsibilities. 

“Enjoying the festivities?”

_Brilliant, yes, preoccupy him with inane chatter._

Techno slowly begins to edge backwards again, intent on escape.

Retreat and regroup.

“Yes, your majesty,” Dream replies politely, all traces of his previous frustrations disappearing in favour of the affably aloof persona he adopts in public once more.

Phil chuckles. “No need to be so formal, you’ve become a trusted companion of Techno and he’s spoken so highly of you.”

Techno comes to a stop, accidentally clacking his hoof loudly against the marble floor when the words process through his already overwrought mind. He makes a distressed noise in the back of his throat, though it comes out more as a strange snuffling sound.

His entire family is _disowned_.

Damn them all for being such perceptive bastards.

“The prince is too kind. It is my pleasure to be held in such high esteem by his highness,” Dream deflects, but the side look he flashes Techno is strange.

Nope.

That’s enough of that.

Techno is not strong enough to have Dream saying anything nice about him, much less the word pleasure, while sporting adorable cat ears. Even less so now that he’s not only failed to apologize properly for the other day, but also managed to insult the other man further in the span of two sentences.

Two!

Why did he take decorum lessons when he was younger if they were all going to fail him when it counted!?

“I er,” Techno starts, ignoring Phil’s amused look, “I have to ah, I need a drink. Yes. Drinks. Excuse-”

“Here you go,” Wilbur says, appearing like the demon that he is, gliding up and snatching a glass off a passing servant. Techno is taking this as proof that Wilbur is drawn to the existence of Techno’s humiliation like a bloodhound to a wounded animal.

He’s surrounded by these people and somehow _Techno’s_ the bully.

Seriously.

Techno glares.

“Thank you,” he grits out.

Wilbur smiles back beautifically. “Of course, can’t have you parched and unable to speak when you meet your true love.” The phrasing forces Techno to pause, and he sends Wilbur a pointed look, suspecting that the latter might have been eavesdropping on his attempt to converse with Dream earlier.

“Yes,” Techno agrees after a beat, “how ah, how _kind_ of you.”

“And has anyone caught your eye?” Wilbur asks innocently, raising an eyebrow.

Techno, not daring to peek in Dream’s direction, shakes his head furiously. 

“No,” he denies in what he hopes is a calm and collected manner. “Nope, no one has ah, caught my attention.”

Dream, thankfully, remains quiet, though his soft disbelieving snort is not missed by any of the royals.

Wilbur’s smile noticeably widens.

“Well then, this has been so much fun. So much. But ah, I, uh, I think I shall duck out for some air. You know,” Techno blurts out, “new body temperature regulatory system and all that. Yes, right, okay, well um... excuse me.”

It’s official, he has no idea what he’s saying anymore.

He pushes past Wilbur and Dream, and presses his new maw tightly shut to avoid gasping when he brushes against Dream’s tail in passing.

It’s soft and silky against his wrist and-

He catches the bewildered look on Dream’s face, the slight widening of his eyes behind the mask and could do nothing against the helpless wave of want that washes over him. And for a second, he thinks he might see an answering look on Dream’s face, but then he blinks and Dream is just Dream again.

Politely smiling and bowing to acknowledge Techno’s departure.

“Right, okay,” Techno swallows against the painful lump in his throat. It tastes like ashes and feels too much like dashed hope. “This has been _fantastically fun_ but if you’ll all excuse me.”

Techno stumbles past merry attendees, elegantly made up like various costumed creatures, beautifully coloured and resplendently draped in jewels.

Each a painful reminder of his own cursed appearance. 

He bursts onto one of the ornate balconies with the grace befitting of, well, a _beast_ and blindly slumps against the nearest ivory balustrade. The sound of frantic whispers and the rustling of fabric alerts him to the fact that the balcony had already been occupied, but fortunes appear to be in his favour for once, because the previous occupants do not attempt to engage him in discussion.

He hears their rapidly retreating footsteps and the fading of the music and chatter as the doors as swing shut behind them.

Still collapsed awkwardly, Techno listens to the muted merriment from inside and feels thoroughly and shockingly alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, a shout out to the eternally amazing demononthewry and Blue_Moon08 for beta reading this chapter! :)
> 
> And as always, writing this for a fun pick me up at the end of long work days so updates will continue to be sporadic.

Dream is tired.

He’s looked into every single damn nook and cranny in this stupid kingdom and cannot seem to find any trace of the villager mentioned in the official debriefing. He’s tried every conceivable variation of tracking spells, location spells and even some hybrid misdirection spells, but so far, the man remains elusive.

He groans and allows his head to droop forward with a painful thunk onto his work table, squeezing his eyes shut when the movement causes the world to spin.

_When was the last time he slept?_

_Better yet, what day is it even?_

There’s a persistent low throbbing headache pounding away at his temples, it feels like a countdown, a mental clock slowly ticking away and rubbing Dream’s ineptitude into his own metaphorical face.

“I should sleep,” he mutters out loud to himself, then unbidden, an image of the pained expression on Technoblade’s face on the night of the ball flashes into his mind and adheres itself to the back of his eyelids. Until all Dream can see are flashes of tusks, a too wide mouth, a crooked snout and-

He shakes his head to try and rid himself of Techno’s brilliantly colored eyes, which always seem to linger in the recesses of his mind. More so now, because the second prince may be a pig in appearance, but those eyes, still a stunning red, are entirely human.

And that night, that gaze had been filled with nothing but frustration.

Dream grits his teeth.

It doesn’t make sense.

Dream is the one who was none too gently informed that his themed costume isn’t pleasing to the eye.

_Which, plain ridiculous, who doesn’t like cats?_

And Dream is the one who provided an unspoken olive branch as a peace offering, by rescuing the idiot from what was sure to have become a scandal, and got rejected. 

_What cause did Techno have to be irritated?_

Techno is honestly the only royal who both visibly dislikes companionship of strangers but is also unwilling to blatantly dismiss people from his presence.

Dream can only imagine the court gossip if the conversation had continued in vain and the girl had burst into tears or something equally tedious, which would have surely caused tongues to waggle and distort the true story until Techno is made out to be some cruel brute. 

As if the second prince needed anything else to go wrong, it’s bad enough that Techno already has a curse inflicted on him.

That’s absolutely why Dream intervened that night.

It’s not because he had seen the way the young lady had been gazing at Techno, as if she saw past the transformed visage and seen the man beneath, and felt something ugly and cold grip his heart.

Not at all.

Though, of course the ungrateful asshole had to just abandon the damn ball and leave Dream standing there like an absolute fool-

Dream forces himself to open his eyes again, unable to bear reminiscing about that disastrous event for as long as he had. His eyes immediately burn, watering involuntarily, and he absent-mindedly reaches out for another rejuvenating potion, only to meet empty air. He pats about for a few more seconds before he groggily raises his head enough to peer at the side of the desk.

There is nothing.

It’s a genuine sign of how tired he is, that Dream takes a full minute to process what the lack of potions means.

“Fuck,” he says to the silent room, and pushes himself upright enough to be able to stare down at his hands, which are predictably shaking from the persistent usage of the boosting potion. “Shit,” Dream curses again, and tries to clench his hands into fists to hide the continued tremors. 

He mostly succeeds.

There is a knock at the door.

“Pardon the disturbance, the court of high mages kindly requests your presence.”

Dream looks over, then down again at his still shaking hands. 

“Understood. Please inform the court I will be there shortly,” he says after a beat.

He pushes off the desk and stumbles unsteadily over to his bed, where he drops ungracefully onto the ground and pulls out a small chest from underneath. He rummages through the contents until he feels the cool touch of a glass vial beneath his fingertips, taking out the last of his rejuvenating potions.

His hands continue to shake even as he goes to uncork the vial and Dream pauses. He swallows hard and thinks maybe he can just skip the meeting. Just go to bed and retire for the evening.

He's just an honorary member.

_Who cares._

Except, even before the thought is fully formed, Dream knows that he won't be able to leave this matter of Techno's curse alone.

Not when he can still clearly recall the image of Techno’s huddled figure on the balcony later on that night.

Alone and untouchable.

Lit by the moonlight and his new monstrous features deepened unkindly by the shadows.

Not when he can still vividly remember the shiver that had gone down his spine when Techno had growled, low and bestial, when the latter noticed his presence. Or of how Techno had twisted up and around to stare at the portal, from which Dream had been intending to cross over, with glowing eyes.

Too red and too furious with-

_With what?_

Dream hadn't wanted to know.

Hadn't wanted to fight again.

So he had closed the portal without another word, feeling very much like he intruded on a private moment, despite Techno being completely out in the open.

A memory of the day after, when Dream, still fuming, had been inexplicably visited by the same falcon, which glided silently into his room and held out a leg.

 _My bad,_ it had read, script barely decipherable and the parchment showing evidence of the quill having torn into the scroll at the end. Dream had stared at it, taken aback at the near apology, so uncharacteristic of the confident prince he’d come to know and felt something akin to distress.

_Stop._

Dream lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and gulps down the rest of the vial, mentally pushing away all the recollections and storing them into tight little boxes in the corner of his mind.

He stands idly for a few more minutes, clenching and unclenching his hands while he waits for the potion’s effects to manifest. He straightens up once he begins to feel the warmth of the potion radiate from his magical core, and fastidiously brushes down his robes before affixing his normal mask back onto his face.

A bridge green portal flashes into existence, a swirling viridescent whirlpool which Dream steps through quickly before he could dwell on his own thoughts any longer. He murmurs a low greeting to the gathered mages and plunks himself down at the nearest seat.

“Hmm,” greets the Elder, peering at Dream from across the table.

Dream avoids the other’s gaze by studiously examining the glowing orb at the center, where a faded but still coherent image of the villager Dream had been trying to track down is displayed, flickering in and out of the white mist.

“He is heavily protected by those with means,” comments one mage to Dream’s right, sounding tired. “It took patient and careful infiltration within numerous organizations across the realm to even determine his location, but I’m afraid-” the mage coughs delicately, “well, the prince’s enemies are many and, there are countless willing to put forth their coin or services to prevent us from reaching the villager.”

“Could we not combine a pointer spell with a love spell?” a soft, feminine voice pipes up. “Why focus our efforts on the villager if we know the solution? Had the results of our work the night of the ball yielded nothing of use?”

“Well,” replies another, sounding chagrined, “we were able to determine that there was someone of compatibility in attendance that night, but we were unable to pinpoint the individual, something in the curse misdirected our efforts every time we attempted.”

An image of the young girl flashes through Dream’s head and he purses his lips in annoyance.

It can’t be her.

_It can’t._

“It could be the spell,” someone else pipes up, the glow of the orb lighting up the man’s face enough to show the cruel downturn of his mouth, “or maybe you’re simply not deserving of the court mage title.”

“How dare you!”

The Elder holds up a hand and an immediate hush falls over the table, all squabbling ceasing out of respect.

“We must find the originator of the curse and better understand the purpose of the spell, but we must also investigate the potential candidate at the ball. Coordinate with the Royal Knights and amongst yourselves to determine the best use of your resources,” the Elder says calmly.

There is a chorus of murmurs in concession to the Elder’s commands and a few immediately stand to leave. Mages are, by nature, solitary individuals with few trusted acquaintances. Dream takes one last look at the floating orb before he makes to do the same, summoning a portal-

It seals up with a small pop.

He pauses.

The Elder, still sitting serenely at the round table, chuckles.

“Please sit.”

Out of sheer obstinance against being commanded, Dream remains standing, but he does turn around enough that his back is no longer to the other.

“Elder,” he acknowledges.

The Elder does not appear to take offense at his insubordination, instead, the wizened man gives another quiet laugh. “I remember when I was a spry young lad.”

Dream stays silent.

The Elder continues on, seemingly uninterested in waiting for a response from Dream. “It is indeed not the young lady, I observed a memory of that night and must agree that the princeling seemed very disinterested in making her acquaintance.”

“So who do you think is his-” Dream starts to ask before he stops, somehow unable to say the words ‘true love’.

The Elder’s eyes crinkle in amusement. “Someone deserving of the princeling’s love,” he says ambiguously, “but the curse likely will not accept fickle affection so I fear there are still some ways to go.”

_Which._

_Wait._

_What?_

“You know who it is?” Dream says urgently, relief and panic warring within him at the thought of Techno being turned back to normal, of Techno resuming his normal self, of seeing the prince's pale skin and long pink hair again.

All because his true love was at the ball.

The idea rests uneasily at the bottom of his stomach.

The Elder sighs. 

“I have my suspicions, but as I said, this curse will likely not recognize potential or magically induced emotions. We would be better suited to pursue the villager to determine if there might be other ways of reversing the curse.”

“Why,” Dream inquires past the lump in his throat, “why are you telling me.”

“Why, you ask?” The Elder hums thoughtfully, “Well, I suppose it must be because I judged you to be capable of providing assistance.”

_Figures._

All mages tend to speak in riddles, Dream has no idea why he thought the Elder might be different.

What’s more, the Elder is peering at his face again, yellow eyes appearing to glow in the dimly lit room. 

The man continues with a somber look, “I fear that concern for the welfare of the kingdom may force even the most honorable of us to resort to poor decisions. You know as well as I that prince Technoblade is the best candidate for the throne, but if this persists, well, I suspect you understand the concern.”

Yes.

Dream does understand.

If Techno is absent from the public for too long, speculations will eventually arise and suspicions will run amok, which will either expose the truth to the public through loose lips or will see Techno’s reputation damaged as those with malicious intent manipulate his inability to defend himself into the story they want for the man.

How many times has he seen a kingdom fall to ruin because its leader’s reputation had been tarnished by petty, spiteful rumours?

If this continues long term, Techno’s new appearance will be the least of the man’s worries.

The Elder sighs, looking weary. 

“But true love cannot be rushed.”

“So,” Dream says flatly, skirting the boundaries of cordiality, “we hold our collective breaths and hope that whoever this lady is will somehow fall in love with the prince, despite his imposed lockdown inside his room?”

The Elder blinks at him. “Lady?”

Dream is, once again, thankful for his mask because he’s fairly certain his dumbfounded expression would have ruined all his credibility as an all-knowing, well-educated nomad.

“It’s a-”

“Ahh,” the Elder interrupts with a pleased little shrug, “who can know?”

_Again._

_What?_

“Wait,” Dream says, holding up a hand and trying not to mentally combust at the roundabout conversation he seems to be having, “so the individual is not female or male? What, is his highness in love with a blob?”

The Elder shrugs again slowly, the action carefully rustling his robes but he unhelpfully does not offer up any further information.

“Mage Dream,” the Elder eventually says instead, smiling that knowing smile again, “please go forth and aid us in our kingdom’s time of need.” 

He pauses, and stares at the barely imperceptible tremor in Dream’s hands.

“But do rest up first. The princeling may be experiencing a crisis but he is still in safe hands.”

\---

By the time Dream finds squidkid three whole days later, he is understandably running on the last dregs of his patience and is keen to finish this as soon as possible. 

It had taken a full day for him to catch up on some much-needed rest and the remaining two days tracking down every known affiliation of the villager, threatening more than a few deep pocketed nobles until someone squealed enough to lead him here.

‘Second best potatoes in the realm’ exclaims the garish banner above the prominently situated stall in the bustling market, situated in a small seaside town located to the west of Logstedshire.

“Pardon,” Dream says with a passably pleasant smile once he’s close enough to the man’s stall to be within earshot, “are you the vendor?”

The villager squints at him for a moment.

“Yeah, and who are you?”

“Fantastic,” Dream replies. 

Without warning, he propels himself forward with wind magic, careful to buffet himself with a protective shield at the same time. He feels the instant when he breaks past whatever guard spells blanketed the villager, uncaring that he’s tripped up all the alarms. As, before anyone can react or respond, another chartreuse-coloured portal is yawning open behind squidkid and Dream is forcibly pushing the villager into it.

The portal flashes close amidst the alarmed shouts from the market goers.

“What are you doing, you bozo?!” squidkid is shouting at him, but there is a noticeable hint of fear in the villager’s voice. “You don’t want to mess with me, I have friends in high places you know!” 

He’s looking around wildly, but Dream’s taken the liberty to bring him back to a secret section of the palace dungeons, so not only would the villager have no clue where he is but there will also be no rescue. After all, no one can use magic to enter the grounds of the royal palace without approval from the court of high mages.

“Fantastic to know, now, as to why I’m here.” 

Dream allows the expression on his mask to change, the normal thin smile opening to reveal a sharp toothed grin. 

“I want to know about Prince Technoblade,” he says coolly. “The royal court of high ma-”

“Oh my god,” squidkid cuts in, “this is crazy, he’s crazy, you can’t do this to me just because I challenged him in a potato contest. In fact, he challenged me! And I lost, what more could he want?”

“But that’s not all that you did,” Dream points out, moving closer so he can tower over the villager, reveling in the shiver the action elicits. “You also cursed him.”

“I-” squidkid squeaks out, eyes wide. “Are you telling me that it actually worked? I don’t know what you want me to say, some random person in a hooded cloak asked me if I wanted to get him back and I said yes?”

Dream narrows his eyes behind his mask. “So you mean to inform me,” he paraphrases slowly, “that you have no idea how this happened.”

“Kinda yeah.” squidkid has the audacity to shrug.

Dream holds back a sigh. 

“Then why have you been hiding?”

“I haven’t though?” the villager replies, again, seemingly honestly confused. “I just got a lot of offers of help once people realized I got beaten by the prince? I’m not hiding or anything, okay!”

“Right,” Dream says after a beat, unable to deal with the ridiculousness of the situation. “So let me reiterate,” he tries in as patient of a tone as he can, “what do you remember about this hooded person?”

“Uh.”

Dream forces the expression on his mask to become more menacing, all narrow slits for eyes and a deep frown with fangs poking out on the sides. He raises a gauntleted hand so it glints in the weak beam of light visible from a nearby window, which is securely blocked off by cold iron bars.

“Let’s try this again.”

“Oh God, can I please catch a break, seriously, relax, relaaaax!” the villager yelps, cowering back, jumping when he backs into a stone wall. “I really don’t know anything. I don’t know who it is, never saw their face. They didn’t exactly introduce themselves to me you know? And I don’t know what they did, they just asked me if I wanted the prince to feel what I did when I lost what I prized most in the world.”

“What did you prize the most?” Dream prods.

“What,” squidkid peers at him from behind shaking hands, “seriously? My potato plant. You think I like being second best? I was first. **First!** Until he came around and casually ruined everything. All my efforts, dashed.”

Dream processes the new information, frowning behind the mask.

_It doesn’t make sense._

Techno is not nearly vain enough for his looks to be what the man valued most in life.

“Are you certain they said what he prized most in the world?”

“Uh,” the villager makes a face, scrunching his brows in thought, “maybe? I don’t know, they were being all vague. They might have said what his heart most desires?”

Dream tries not to groan.

“Those are completely different things,” he points out, his already low restraint running on empty.

“Okay, no, hey, no, okay, give me a moment okay.” The villager babbles, raising his hands up in supplication. “Seriously, aren’t you a mage, why don’t you just magic your way into my memories or something-”

Which is an ingenious idea.

Dream pauses and considers the nervous villager in front of him.

It does take a bit of planning, but Dream manages to quickly subdue squidkid by means of some magically generated ropes. Ignoring the villager's continued protests, Dream pulls him through another portal and into the chamber where the court last congregated. After that, he amuses himself by making faces at the now bound squidkid until a servant is able to summon the Elder, who arrives remarkably quickly for a man his age.

He briefs the Elder in on the situation and watches as the wizened man strides over and tap at the still captive squidkid’s forehead.

A burst of light overtakes the room.

When it clears, Dream finds himself standing in the middle of a teeming square. He instinctively moves back when a group of screaming children come running, but they pass through him like phantoms. He looks around and finds himself catching the gaze of the Elder, who is making his way towards a nearby podium, where a scowling squidkid is gazing dourly at a second place ribbon. Nearby, Techno is handing off his trophy to his guards, appearing rather nonchalant about the prize.

Dream mirrors the Elder’s actions, nearly losing squidkid in the throng once the competition moves on to the next vegetable and the previous participants are ushered politely off the stage. Thankfully, he catches sight of the villager and moves in close enough just in time to hear the start of the conversation.

“What?” the villager asks, “what did you say?”

“What would you say if I can help you?”

“With what?”

“Do you want him to experience the same loss you did?” The hooded figure counters. 

Dream frowns when he ducks down to peer up at the face and sees nothing but darkness within the hood, no features, it’s as if there is no physical being within the robes.

“You can’t see what the individual did not see,” comes the Elder’s voice.

Dream snorts but straightens up accordingly.

“Loss?” squidkid asks, throwing a cautious look over his shoulder, at the direction to which Techno had sauntered off.

The hooded figure chuckles, a raspy sound. “Such a cold heart,” the person remarks, “prince Technoblade’s heart is as barren as the kingdom he seeks to rule.”

“Er,” squidkid hesitates, looking visibly uncomfortable, “I mean, okay, relax, it’s just a potato contest. He doesn’t seem that bad.”

“Do you not want him to experience the same anguish you felt?” The hooded figure continues, as if squidkid hadn’t spoken, “do you not wish to deprive him of what he prizes the most in the world? What he covets above all else?”

“Okay, if I say yes,” squidkid agrees, edging backwards, “will you calm down and leave me alone, because I’m going to be honest, you’re starting to freak me out a bit.”

The hooded individual shudders.

“Yessss,” the figure hisses. 

“A curse upon his house and all within it. May he forever don the guise of a beast, a vicious monster with tusks as sharp as his words and a maw as wide as the empty abyss that is his heart. May he be cursed to remain so until his cold heart thaws enough to feel true affection for another and his love is sincerely reciprocated.”

The hooded figure rounds about and points at the potato plant cradled in squidkid’s hands.

“And what’s a curse without a deadline,” the person coos mockingly. “May he have until the last of the flowers wilt on your precious plant come the next harvest season. If he shall fail, may he be doomed to remain a _mindless beast_ for the rest of his life.”

squidkid is backing away, face blanching.

But that appears to be the extent of the interaction, because there's another blaze of bright white light before Dream is back in the palatial room. He takes a second to blink away the dizzying amount of spots dancing behind his eyelids, then he’s whirling around and pinning the still complaining squidkid with a sharp look.

“Where is the plant?”

squidkid blinks warily back at him. “What plant?”

“The potato plant.”

“Uh…”

_Of course._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, a shout out to the eternally amazing demononthewry and Blue_Moon08 for beta reading this chapter! :)
> 
> Let's all pretend that Saint Valen's day is not a rip off of Valentine's day and that it happens in late October. c:

“Wow,” Tommy says with a low whistle, “Technoblade, people do not like you.”

Wilbur nods, looking a bit shell-shocked. “The time limit element does seem unnecessarily cruel.”

Even Phil looks a bit chagrined by the whole matter.

Techno considers refuting the general consensus since he’s fairly certain that there must be _at least one or two_ citizens in the kingdom who do like him, but then decides it would be a fruitless effort when there’s so much evidence to the contrary recently. He tries to shrink into the armchair he’s sitting in instead, hoping that whatever higher powers are up there would be kind and just smite him now.

He’s ready.

Please just make it fast.

“If I may,” Dream speaks up, having stayed silent while the Elder had been recounting the newly gleaned information from squidkid’s memories, “given the urgency of the situation, we must move fast.”

“Well,” Tommy pipes up, “we’re halfway there, aren’t we Technoblade?”

Techno does not break into a cold sweat.

Nope.

Please.

This can’t be happening.

“Why don’t you just tell us who it is you like and-”

“Tommy.”

Phil isn’t loud, but the uncharacteristic seriousness of his tone immediately stops whatever else the youngest is intending to say.

Wilbur lays a hand on Tommy’s shoulder when the latter makes a face.

“But why?” Tommy persists and tries to shrug off the hand, “this isn’t funny anymore and we can’t just leave Techno like this.”

“No one is saying that.” Wilbur comforts, tugging the younger closer so he can drape an arm around Tommy’s shoulder. “We just need to acknowledge that some matters take time.”

Tommy pushes off the arm irritably and spins around. 

“What? We don’t have time! You can’t all be serious, we can’t just let Technoblade stay like this. Forget the plant, we just need to find out who he-”

“Stop,” Techno cuts in. “Tommy. Stop it.”

He winces when Tommy whips around, fists trembling at his side and his face stricken.

“What?” Tommy replies in a harsh whisper. The youngest prince accuses, sounding hurt, “Do you like being like this? Are you really okay with this?! You might stay like this forever or worse die! Why would you-” 

They all watch as he stops to take in a deep breath. 

Techno is suddenly reminded that, for all his blustering and bravado, Tommy is still sixteen. He is much too young to be burdened with the knowledge that his sibling might soon pass away.

Actually, it must be hard on everyone, Techno realizes with a start.

He’s been so consumed by self-pity that he hasn’t wanted to see past the others’ meticulously maintained masks of normality. 

“I thought you were stronger than this...I mean, it’s just a stupid curse,” Tommy gets out, eyes shimmering with frustrated tears. “Maybe you’ve made peace with the fact that you might die as a pig, but I haven’t. And I won’t! I’ll find out who you like and get them to return your affections. Just watch me, you coward.”

Tommy turns on his heels and dashes out of Phil’s private study in the stifling silence following his impassioned speech.

“I’ll go check in on him,” Wilbur offers quietly before he too is gone.

Techno feels numb.

“Princeling,” the Elder says solicitously, “we already have people on the search to find the plant, but-”

“I understand Elder,” Techno interrupts, “truly, thank you for the update. I-” 

He cuts himself off, realizing that his hands are trembling where they’re resting on the table. He hurriedly withdraws and tucks them below the table. He draws in a shaky breath and tries to organize his thoughts, but his mind is a chaotic mess and he can’t figure out what he wants to say.

As what seems to always be the case recently, Phil steps in and rescues him from further embarrassment. “Elder, if you please, a word in private?”

There is a brief moment of silence as the rest of the occupants shuffle out amidst worried murmurs, all of the personal guards clearing out with a gesture from Phil, leaving Techno alone in the room with the last person he wanted to face.

Techno resolutely stares down at Phil’s mahogany kidney desk and wonders how many before him sat at the very same armrest and stared down at the same wood.

Wonders how many have felt trapped in a dire situation with no end in sight.

“He’s right, you know.”

Techno swallows, chancing a brief glance upward to where Dream is leaning against the back wall of the room, face hidden by that damnable mask. 

He really isn’t ready for this discussion.

“Technoblade,” Dream says, a tanned hand reaching up to physically remove the mask, which disintegrates in a shower of green sparkles.

Techno breathes in sharply.

It’s been more than a week since he’s properly seen Dream, between his inability to not insult the other and the mage just being his general elusive self. And while the mage is a sight for sore eyes as always, he also looks remarkably exhausted.

Techno presses his lips together to prevent the instinctive desire to fuss over the other.

Dream is too proud to accept coddling and will likely interpret Techno’s concern as a sign that Techno doesn’t have faith in his ability to take care of himself. Techno has yet to convey that, knowing that Dream is fully capable does not prevent Techno’s heart from squeezing painfully from worry.

It doesn’t stop Techno from wondering what it is that’s been so troubling that the other has lost so much sleep over the matter.

He wants Dream to rely on him, so much that he’s spent hours trying to match the man’s skills in order to prove himself worthy.

Techno internally laughs at himself.

What a ridiculous idea.

He can’t even take care of himself, made entirely evident by the fact that he’s still a pig for godsakes, what makes him think that Dream would ever find him reliable?

“There must be another way,” Techno says eventually.

Dream scoffs. “Don’t dodge the question _sire_ ,” the mage snaps, striding over, “is there someone you hold true affection for?”

Yes, Techno thinks miserably, looking up at Dream’s lovely scowling face.

“I, maybe, but it’s, there’s no point,” is what he gets out.

Dream’s face goes carefully blank. 

“Who is it?”

“It’s not returned,” Techno says in lieu of actually answering, “I, I don’t think it makes sense to pursue that angle.”

“That’s it?”

Techno looks away, unable to stand staring at Dream for any longer.

“Did you not hear the curse? It’s not just you, the curse will affect your whole house, do you know what that means?”

Techno does know.

It means he’s a danger to his family.

It means if he doesn’t get a handle on the situation then his family may also become subject to this curse.

“Is Tommy right?” 

He hears Dream asks tersely. 

“Because the fucking asshole who beat me in the damn tournament and who spent so much time reading through scrolls on the theory of interdimensional travel just so he can figure out the most logical trajectory I would follow, would not be giving up so easily.”

“This isn’t really the same thing is it,” Techno grits out, unwillingly allowing himself to be drawn into the argument, as is usual with the two of them. “I can’t exactly just go up to them and say hullo, what are you doing next weekend, I think I might like you and you might be able to cure my curse.”

“Of course not,” Dream dismisses easily, grabbing a hold of Techno’s tusks so they’re eye to eye again. 

Which is singularly frustrating.

Why is everyone doing that recently?

“But you will damn well make an effort to win this person over, because so help me, I will not have lost to someone who does not even have the courage to confess.”

He probably says more, but Techno stops listening.

Dream really does look tired, dark smudges under his eyes showing up even against his naturally tanned complexion and there’s a pinched quality to his brows and mouth that didn’t used to exist, which can only have arisen from continual stress. 

But, despite all that, he’s still so painfully handsome that Techno doesn’t even blame his poor heart for skipping a few beats.

“What are you doing on Saint Valen’s day?” Techno croaks out, likely interrupting Dream in the middle of his sentence. Immediately, he feels terror seize at his chest, the thumping of his heart so loud in his ear that he worries he may not even hear Dream’s answer.

“What?”

Dream looks confused, hands uncurling from Techno’s tusks.

Instinctively, Techno reaches up and grabs a hold of them before Dream can properly back away, unable to deny his own unconscious desire to maintain their close proximity.

“What,” he tries again and clears his throat, “what are your plans for Saint Valen’s day?”

“What does this have to do with anything?” 

Dream glares at him when Techno fails to elaborate. 

“I don’t know, probably hang out with George if he wants to be my valentine.”

Which.

Of course.

Techno honestly does not know why he allowed Dream to goad him into trying again, into thinking he might be able to persuade Dream of his own affections and maybe receive it in turn.

Or no, that’s not fair.

It’s Techno’s fault for still retaining hope after all this time.

He should know better.

He really should.

The events of the past week should have taught him well that while Dream likely does regard him as a trusted companion, which is progress in and of itself, the mage has no romantic inclinations towards him.

Not with how Dream’s been spurring all of Techno’s, admittedly poor, attempts to converse about his (likely unrequited) affections.

“Nothing,” he mutters, dropping Dream’s hands, feeling like the brief touch burned him from the inside out and left nothing but ashes on his tongue. 

“Forget it, I’m not going to,” he gets out in a clipped tone, knowing he’s lashing out in his own hurt but unable to staunch the tidal wave of words regardless. “This whole idea that true love will cure me is ridiculous. Why don’t you go find that plant and figure out how to reverse the curse that way? Heh?”

He hears Dream’s sharp intake of breath and continues on before the other can speak. 

In for an inch, in for a mile. “Just don’t, why don’t you do me a favour and go hang out with George?”

He doesn’t flinch when he hears the sharp crackle of a portal closing.

The equivalent of a door slam with Dream.

Techno would be upset with how he handled that situation, but he's too busy trying to repair the slowly bleeding tear on his heart. And really, what’s one more disastrous encounter in a string of horrible impressions?

\---

“Tommy.”

Techno sighs when Tommy pointedly turns away from him.

“Seriously?”

“What are you doing here? I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Real mature,” Techno grumbles, but settles down nevertheless on the adjoining window sill, careful of his new build as he tries to fit on top of the narrow cobblestones.

“Shut up,” Tommy snarks back, “I don’t want to hear that from someone who can’t even confess to his crush.”

Ouch.

Fair.

Techno snorts, ignoring the curious look he gets from Tommy when his snout wiggles comically from making the sound.

“Alright, you got me, want to tell me what all that was back there?”

“No.”

“Okay.” 

Techno allows his thoughts to wander while he waits, he’s fairly confident that Tommy will crack before his own patience runs out. In the meantime, he watches from his new perch and looks down at the garden below.

The western royal garden is a riot of colours, clusters of blue bird asters intermingling with butterfly bronze snapdragons, and the occasional group of matchstick chrysanthemums, all vying for attention in the afternoon light. Techno thinks distantly of his potato field, and wonders if the potato minions he hired are taking good care of his plants.

“I don’t get it,” Tommy says, drawing his knees up so he’s fully seated on his window sill.

Techno returns his somber gaze. “That does not surprise me,” he replies light-heartedly, trying to cajol the younger into his usual spirits, “I suspect there are many things you do not understand.”

He tries not to smirk when Tommy’s eyes narrow in response, obviously picking up on the implied insult.

“Is it still funny to you?”

Techno allows the playful smile to drop at the sight of Tommy’s terse expression.

“Technoblade, I’m not joking around, you-” Tommy hesitates, “you’re my brother, and I, I don’t want you to-” He chokes off, looking achingly young.

“Tommy.”

“No, I don’t get it, I don’t understand why it is that someone would curse you and I don’t understand why you’re not fighting it? Why are you so sure that whoever you love doesn’t love you back?”

Techno groans, and raises a hand so he can rub at his face, careful to maneuver around his tusks. “Relationships aren’t that easy.”

“Of course not,” Tommy agrees readily, “but what I don’t understand is why you won’t try.”

“I’m not like you all.”

Techno sighs at the confused look on Tommy’s face. 

“Tommy,” he tries for another approach, “why do you guys not leave me alone at events?”

“Because you’re shit at talking to people and are likely to incite wars,” is the immediate answer, sounding like a dutiful recitation of something often repeated to Tommy.

“Yeah,” Techno grouses, “that’s why.”

“What? I don’t understand, are you saying that’s why you won’t confess?” Tommy’s brows furrow as he tries to follow the logic. “That doesn’t make sense, you’ve had relationships before.”

“By mail, Tommy,” Techno points out patiently, “I used to try and get to know my potential matches by mail.”

“So?”

Techno leans back so his new head rests against the cobblestone, closing his eyes and allowing the memory of his conversation with Dream earlier to replay.

“This isn’t a fight that I can just win, it’s more complicated than that,” he admits after a few minutes, “remember, ‘the wise warrior avoids the battle’, Tommy.”

“But, but you don’t know that. You don’t know if you haven’t confessed. And you’re not even approaching this with anything like your usual dedication. Why is this the one fight you’re willing to just lose? Do you want to-?”

There’s a quiet sniffle.

Techno shoots up from his casual lounging, opening his eyes in time to see Tommy wipe furiously at his face.

“Tommy.”

“No, stop saying my name. I thought this was funny at first because you’re an absolute dickhead and deserved to be knocked down a bit. But this isn’t a joke anymore and you won’t take it seriously.” Tommy is still rubbing at his eyes, but the glimpses Techno sees shows they’re rimmed in red, a sign of how truly upsetting Tommy must have found the recent events. “I thought that, any moment now, you would hole yourself up in the library to do research or go make some poor servant spy on your true love to figure out what they want, anything. Not this. When have you ever sat passively and accepted the lot that people have given you?”

Techno is genuinely surprised when the tentative hand he places on Tommy’s thigh is not smacked away.

“Do you think so little of yourself that you don’t think it’s worth trying?”

Techno flinches, his hand dropping away and he presses back against the window frame, as if he might be able to meld into the cobblestone if he just pushed hard enough.

“Heh?”

“Is that not it?” Tommy asks grimly, “am I wrong? You dedicated months to farming potatoes because the eastern regions reported infestations which ruined their crops and you wanted to provide an alternative which would be more durable than the wheat they normally grow.”

“Tommy.”

“No, I’m not listening to you. You trained for years, yeah okay, probably because you like it. But also because you know neither Phil, Wilbur or I are keen to be warriors. You knew that the only way to divert the rumours that the Badlands were in discussion with L'Manberg to invade us would be to create a proper threat in our kingdom so that they would rethink their alliance.”

“I-”

“You spent weeks in the library and summoned the Elder so many times that he actually had to hold off on his study of the Ender Dragons in order to track down Dream, because you knew the Elder is getting old and we need someone powerful enough to take his place.”

Techno is speechless.

“You did all this because you were doing it for someone else, but this time, this time it only affects you.” Tommy says with an accusatory jab of his finger in Techno’s direction, “and that’s why you don’t seem to care. Well I care, so do Phil and Wilbur, and your guards, and the rest of the staff. You can’t just give up, you dick.”

Techno remains at a loss for words.

He’s dumbfounded by the contradiction of Tommy’s thoroughly insightful flaying of his character and the younger’s obvious inability to accept that some things in life can’t be changed by will or royal command.

He’s also a bit shocked at Tommy’s impression of him.

Techno is nowhere near as selfless as the younger appears to think.

“Okay,” Techno says eventually, “when did you grow a brain?”

“You’re such an asshole,” Tommy gripes, “is this still all just a-”

“I’ll try, Tommy,” Techno promises, cutting the younger off, trying not to feel too fond when his words bring a watery smile to the blond’s face. “You have my word.”

Techno is not a physically affectionate person, but just this once, he allows Tommy to crowd in for a disgustingly snotty hug, and manages not to wince when the blond blatantly rubs his leaking nose onto Techno’s shirt.

He pats at Tommy’s head instead and tries to push down the panic clawing up his chest so it doesn’t show on his face.

Because well, this curse doesn’t only affect him after all, does it?

It affects his whole _house_.

\---

Techno keeps to his promise and does what he does best.

That is, he sequesters himself in his room and orders for as many books on curses, curse-breaking and known instances of true love’s kiss to be brought in as can be fit into the space. The studying has the benefit of allowing him to fulfill his vow to Tommy, with the added bonuses of easing the obvious tension from Phil’s and Wilbur’s shoulders and of keeping his mind fully occupied.

He almost forgets about the other troubling matter on his mind.

Almost.

But Dream’s persistent absence is a pointed reminder that he’s ruined everything on that front.

He should stop with the true love angle, but he doesn’t want to face the questions that would inevitably arise from his family. So he pretends like having his affections returned is still a viable option and secretly nurses his still bleeding heart.

It is about three weeks in that he finds what he’s looking for.

Techno isn’t stupid.

He’s fairly certain that if the court of high mages are stupefied for a cure, then his solo research will likely yield nothing of value, but he isn’t looking for a cure.

He’s looking for a technicality.

And he finds it.

House is so vaguely said in the curse that it could mean his family or it could mean his physical dwelling.

If it’s the former, then all Techno needs to do is renounce his bloodline, which may be what the originator of the curse wanted. Techno can’t be the next king if he isn’t of the royal family. This would be an easy fix but he can’t just secede the throne without setting proper plans in place to ensure Wilbur will be able to temporarily come in as an acting regent, until Tommy is old enough to succeed the throne.

If it’s the latter, well, then Techno just needs to leave, which could also be the hooded figure’s aim. A king can’t rule from an isolated village after all, and physically removing Techno from the castle would effectively sever him from the kingdom’s stronghold.

Either way.

The solution weighs heavily on his chest.

He’s moved on since then, trying to devour other books which might allow him to carry through one of the two options with the aid of magic. But it’s slow going, the tomes are all dry and dusty, and even with Techno’s enviable ability to obsessively focus, the texts are proving a formidable enemy. 

Techno sighs, standing up to stretch his legs and walking in giant, slow loops around his room until his gait is no longer unsteady. That accomplished, he sets out for the main hall, heedlessly of the staff he passes. 

Once the Elder realized that the curse would not be immediately cured, he’d made all the staff take a magical oath to not reveal Techno’s secret on pain of death. So Techno’s feeling rather secure about striding about the hallways again, and for a moment he almost feels normal.

Almost.

“You can be my valentine if you want.”

Techno freezes near the entrance of the main hall, having recognized Dream’s voice instantly. He promptly feels his heart burst with excitement at the knowledge that he’ll be able to see Dream again and wither with disappointment at the knowledge that Dream has said those words to someone other than him.

Unthinking, Techno edges over enough to peek into the room he’d been intending to enter.

Dream is indeed present, dressed in a truly hideous bright green outfit and standing far too close to a handsome brunet. As Techno watches, the brunet says something back, voice too low to make out from the distance, but whatever it is, it makes Dream annoyed.

In the same loud voice, Dream snaps back. “Fuck off George. I don’t like Technoblade. How many times do I have to tell you?”

Techno does not run away or make any noise to alert the two of his presence.

Instead, he quietly shuffles back, wary of his hooves and deliberately steps only on the carpet to avoid striking them against the cobblestone.

He stops when he is far away enough that the sound won’t travel and spends a second collecting himself.

And, as proof of his previous suspicions that Wilbur is a demon who has a sixth sense for when Techno is vulnerable, this is of course when Wilbur finds him.

“Techno?”

Techno waves a hand in Wilbur’s direction. “Hullo Wilbur, what ah, what are you doing here on this fine afternoon? Should you not be playing any number of your songs for your many adoring fans?”

Wilbur makes a humming noise and Techno is suddenly being dragged down another hallway, towards the kitchen.

“What,” he squawks, “unhand me, I don’t need to listen to your songs again.”

“Nope,” Wilbur refutes cheerfully, “that’s a bold faced lie. My songs are timeless. But that’s not why we’re heading down to the kitchen.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Nope!”

Techno allows himself to be pulled along, sighing when Wilbur eventually reveals the reason for his visit by requesting for two very expensive bottles of wine from a frazzled looking kitchen staff.

“What are we doing here?”

“Getting presents,” Wilbur says, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Techno. “Did you forget what day it is?”

Techno had in fact not forgotten, not with that little display from Dream earlier, but he wisely chooses to say nothing. If he plays along, Wilbur will probably let him go sooner. So he stands patiently while Wilbur peers at the bottles the sommelier returns with, and shrugs when Wilbur tries to draw him into giving his opinion.

He’s starting to space out again when there’s a loud crash.

“What?”

“Oh dear lord!”

“She’s- she’s turned into a pot!”

Techno refocuses on his surroundings amidst the commotion, and between Wilbur and he, manages to sternly command the other staff to back up enough that they can see what happened.

There, on the linoleum floor, is a pot.

As they watch, the pot wiggles and turns until they can see the pair of eyes and mouth painted on one side of the pot.

“Why, why is everyone staring at me?” The pot asks, it’s painted mouth moving with the words.

Wilbur makes a shocked noise and one maid hurriedly approaches to explain that the pot was formally another scullery maid.

Something clicks in Techno’s mind.

Option two then.

The curse is starting to enchant everything in his physical ‘house’ into a similar fate.

He’s lucky it started with a maid.

“I’m going to find the Elder,” he says to Wilbur and doesn’t bother listening to a response before he strides out, breaking into a run once he’s out of the kitchen.

He’s prepared for this.

It takes him long, precious minutes to get back to his room.

Once there, he shuts the door behind him and leans on it long enough to take in a deep breath.

Techno thinks about Phil, about Wilbur, about Tommy, about the rest of the staff within the castle, and unwillingly, he thinks about Dream and his friend (lover?) George.

It hurts still.

But Techno isn’t so selfish that he would expose those dear to him to a curse which may never be broken.

Tommy is right.

Techno may have issues about himself, but he’s never backed down from doing what needed to be done.

He quickly moves over to the enchanted knapsacks he requested days ago, all filled to the brim with useful books, provisions and items. He grabs a hold of them and slings them over his shoulder, uncaring of the weight. He won’t be holding onto them for long if he does this right.

He moves over to his desk, where the last book he’d been studying is still laid open.

 _Magical enclosures,_ the book reads.

He closes his eyes briefly.

He thinks again of his family, of the castle staff who’ve done their best to serve him his whole life, of Dream, and resigns himself to the fate he’s choosing.

Techno does not say goodbye, instead, he walks through the soft pink portal he just opened without any hesitation and shuts it without delay, allowing only his trusty falcon to come through with him. That done, he goes about following the book’s instructions until he’s sitting quietly in a shimmering pink dome, a magically enclosed space of his own doing that would protect him from any attack and would prevent anyone from trying to bring him back into the castle without his consent.

Once he’s certain the spell is secure, Techno allows himself to settle heavily onto the ground and stare at his new, permanent, abode.

Happy Saint Valen’s day, he thinks tiredly to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shout out to the eternally amazing demononthewry for beta reading this chapter (and all the best to Blue_Moon08 with her assignments, I know you can crush them)! :)
> 
> It took 6 chapters but I finally got them to have a proper conversation again (and all it took was for Techno to have to write his word down). Progress!

“He’s what?” 

Dream is aware that he’s never spoken to King Phil in such an impudent tone, but between the persistent lack of sleep, the insane amount of work he’s had to put in, and all the favors he had to call on, just to acquire the accursed potato plant, he thinks he may be due for a little leeway.

“He’s gone missing,” Wilbur repeats when Phil doesn’t immediately respond, looking grim and staring quietly down at the plant in front of them.

Dream follows his gaze and looks down as well. With George’s assistance, he’d eventually sneaked it away from the heavily fortified room it had been hidden in, and instead of holding onto the damned thing and trying to figure out how he might be able to use it as leverage to weasel favors out of the royal family, he had come straight here.

He hadn’t been able to explain his logic at the time.

Not to say that he can explain it now.

Thankfully, George hadn’t seemed very bothered by the lack of rewards, monetary or otherwise, taking great joy instead in insinuating that he had anticipated such a scenario due to Dream holding more affections than he might like to admit for a certain prince.

To which Dream had cried slander.

But George had still refused to be his backup valentine, with the excuse that he couldn’t intrude on Dream’s budding romance.

Dream glares at the plant, embarrassment and confusion warring within him at the memories, which makes him want to set off to distant lands and never come back. 

None of Dream’s actions recently made sense to himself and he is reasonably certain that it is all Techno’s fault.

And since Techno isn’t here.

Dream will settle for glowering at the plant.

He scowls at it some more, secure in the knowledge that his expression is hidden behind his mask.

The potato plant is relatively normal looking. Its leaves spill over the side of the pot artfully and are mostly a lush green, except for one brown leaf at the very bottom.

As they watch, the leaf in question curls in on itself with dry crackling noises, shrivelling piteously.

Terror seizes up inside Dream’s chest when the leaf delicately drops from the plant and immediately rots upon hitting the dirt within the pot.

They collectively hold their breath as the seconds tick by, and let loose a unanimous sigh when the plant does not continue to deteriorate.

“Since when?” Dream asks, looking between the two, “and have the court of-”

“Everyone’s been informed,” Phil says wearily.

Dream gives the King a sharper, more assessing look, noting the perpetual furrow to the man's brows and the dark circles under his eyes.

“There’s also something else you don’t know,” Wilbur coughs delicately, “I was with him last, in the kitchen, and he only ran out after he saw a scullery maid turn into a ceramic pot.”

Dream tenses, eyes widening in understanding. “The curse is affecting others?” He breathes out, mind whirling as he tries to digest the new information.

“Apparently so,” Phil concurs, “I imagine Techno had come to the same conclusion as well.”

Which.

Dream blinks at the two tight lipped royals in front of him. “You don’t think he was kidnapped, do you? You suspect he left of his own volition,” he asks slowly, catching onto the true reason for the palpable sense of worry in the air.

The silence spoke for itself.

“Where would he have gone?” Dream eventually questions, trying to maintain his usual air of apathy, though he’s not sure why he still bothers.

It’s a bit late for that.

Hard to pretend you don’t care after you spend nearly a month tracking down a potted plant, all because someone you _casually respected_ goaded you into doing so.

Dream internally smacks down the little voice that skeptically points out that ‘casually respected’ might not be the right descriptor.

It sounded oddly like George.

Shut up, Dream thinks firmly.

He doesn’t like Techno and he is also absolutely not still thinking about their last conversation. The one where Techno confirmed he’s already in love with someone else and then proceeded to rub it in Dream’s face that Dream has no one.

Dream is a nomad, of course he’s not in love with anyone.

Ridiculous.

He’s not bitter.

The reminder didn’t sting.

“That’s what we’re hoping you can assist us with.”

So lost in his thoughts, it takes Dream a few seconds to comprehend what Wilbur has said, but even once he processes the words, he hesitates.

Dream fears that he’s starting to lose the irreverent reputation he painstakingly built up over the course of the many years he spent traipsing through realm after realm, leaving nothing but a whisper of his name and the occasional broken heart. 

It’s worrying that the royal family of the Antarctic Empire appear fully cognizant that, as long as the issue pertains to a certain pink-haired prince, Dream is likely very open to an offer to be involved.

All of these rapid realizations are leading down a path that Dream is not keen to explore, because it’s starting to feel like he has an exploitable weakness and every one of his instincts shy away from the idea of having yet another person to care about.

Dream likes his close circle of friends. He is content with the number of people he calls friends.

He doesn’t want another liability.

In his travels, he’s learned the hard way that to care is to open yourself open to risk.

All of this leads Dream to conclude that, really, he shouldn’t agree to help any further.

The Antarctic Empire has a sufficiently sized army, the court of mages, and an impressively comprehensive espionage network. Which is to say, there is no shortage of skill or manpower, and Dream has provided enough assistance that he can rebuff the request politely and still be excused by the royal family.

He’s honoured Techno’s terms of victory with his actions to date, having tracked down not only squidkid but now also the enchanted plant. He’s provided sufficient aid amidst this crisis.

He can leave.

Caught in his internal deliberation and the struggle of his conflicting ideals, Dream almost misses the look Wilbur and Phil exchanges.

Almost.

“We understand that you are under no obligation to do so,” Phil begins diplomatically, “but we would consider it a commendable favour to the country and would, of course, be willing to handsomely reward you for your continued assistance.”

Dream purses his lips thoughtfully.

He’s not sure why they’re suddenly offering him a reward. He had been certain that they'd seen through his attempt at nonchalance (given his very obvious dedication to finding a cure for Techno) and were going to capitalize on this vulnerability.

Though the promise of a reward does make it a bit easier to justify his continued involvement.

His eyes narrow thoughtfully behind the mask.

Was that the point?

Did Wilbur and Phil want to provide him a justification?

Dream grits his teeth. Trust Techno’s family to be just as confounding as the prince.

Still, he has never refused a chance to wrangle a favour from those in powerful positions.

“I'm honoured to continue offering my aid with this matter. Rewards and favours are but a trifle consideration when it comes to the safety of Prince Technoblade,” Dream eventually declares. It’s the same falsities he used to prattle off to other monarchs in the past.

The only difference is, he thinks he might mean it this time.

Which is singularly horrifying.

Even when he’s not present, Techno continues to be a source of threat to Dream’s previous status as a dashingly handsome, supremely intelligent and incredibly powerful vagabond.

Dream bows and ducks his head to hide his grimace.

He needs to reassess the situation.

Fast.

\---

After being excused, Dream sets off to inspect Techno’s room, and spends an hour being reluctantly impressed by the other man's sheer commitment to a task once he undertakes it. The number of tomes and scrolls within Technos room was truly astounding, even more so because a perusal of the badly written notes within the abandoned notebook on the prince's desk clearly showed that he had actually gone through most of the material.

Not for show, Dream thinks grimly.

Who knows what outlandish magical theories Techno could have come across?

He flips through the notes for another indeterminate amount of time before he decides to admit defeat.

“Hey,” Dream grimaces behind his mask as he opens a portal to Sapnap’s workroom, “need your help.”

Sapnap glares blearily at him. “Do you know what time it is?”

“You’re not asleep anyway, and it’ll be quick.”

“And I repeat,” Sapnap groans, “do you even know what time it is where I am?”

Dream tries not to sigh. “Come on, just a quick favour.”

Sapnap grumbles something, likely unflattering, under his breath but gestures impatiently for Dream to back up. Dream does so, moving far enough away that Sapnap is able to step through the portal.

“Okay,” Sapnap mutters, “what?”

“What are you wearing?”

“Shut the fuck up. Do you want my help or not?”

Dream holds up his hands in surrender, deciding to make fun of the man’s pink headband another day. 

“Yep, you’re right. I absolutely do. Just need you to help me do a quick check for any magical residue,” he pauses, then hurriedly continues, “and maybe borrow your magic signature tracker.”

Sapnap hums thoughtfully and does a slow turn around in place.

“Dream.”

“Ah, yes?”

“Are we in your prince charming’s room?”

Dream glowers. “He’s not my prince charming.”

“And yet,” Sapnap points out, smirking in delight, “you immediately knew who I was referring to.”

Which.

“Shut up,” Dream snips back, annoyed at the heat in his own cheeks, “focus, there’s more important things besides your weird fantasies about my love life.”

“Love life?” Sapnap gleefully asks, “so we’re finally acknowledging that Prince Technoblade is a viable love-”

“Stop.”

Dream sees the way Sapnap tenses slightly, likely not expecting the sudden descent to serious annoyance when the conversation was clearly in jest. 

Dream himself isn’t even sure why he snapped. Or well, maybe he does, because a small part of his brain is still thinking about that brown leaf from earlier and panicking quietly at the idea of more leaves falling. The more time passes on, the higher the chance that Techno might-

“I,” Dream starts then stops to clear his decidedly depressing thoughts, allowing himself to breathe in deeply and releasing it, “not now okay?”

“Sure, yeah,” Sapnap agrees easily, but there’s a hint of concern in the slight downturn of his mouth.

“Thanks,” Dream mumbles, slightly embarrassed at his own reaction.

Seriously, what is wrong with him recently?

Why does he care so much?

He clears his throat. “Just, they suspect he left from his room. Several bags of supplies that were supposedly in this room are gone, too heavy for a quick or single trip.”

“You think he went through a portal?” Sapnap clues on quickly.

Dream nods, then moves aside so Sapnap can do a proper survey of the room, watching as the other man carefully steps around the stacked books. Sapnap investigates briskly, a few mumbled incantations slipping out as he goes, until he reaches the edge of the desk and a flash of pink appears and dissipates within the same breath.

“There you go,” Sapnap points out needlessly, “there’s a bit of other residue as well, so we’re not the only ones who found his tracks.”

“The court of mages were informed so some of them probably came by,” Dream theorizes, hoping that he’s correct.

He tries to look unaffected when Sapnap turns to peer at him, and is certain his efforts were in vain when Sapnap, entirely too sympathetically, offers.

“I’ll take a sample and do a quick check against our registry, so you can focus on tracking him down.”

“Thanks,” Dream starts, “and the-” He cuts himself off with a curse when Sapnap throws something at him. Dream catches it with a mild scowl, which fades quickly into one of quiet gratitude when he recognizes the tracker in his grasp.

“Don’t you dare break it.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Sapnap rolls his eyes fondly. “Yeah, yeah, go find your prince charming.”

“I hate you,” Dream replies, but he’s smiling.

-

A few hours later finds him at the edge of a forest. He’s deep enough in the northern region of the empire that the chill has started to grip properly onto the land, resulting in a perpetual mist which covers the ground, but not so cold that the frost has rendered the land a barren tundra.

Dream stares down at the tracker.

It’s a small contraption made of bronze and, at the moment, is still in the center of his palm. He pokes at it with a finger, and it obligingly opens up to reveal a set of jagged teeth.

After a beat, it holds out a tongue.

Dream carefully opens a jar by the fake mouth, allowing the tracker to dart in quickly to taste the magical residue from Techno’s room.

The mouth closes.

The tracker vibrates in his palm before a pair of mechanical wings delicately unfurl from its small rotund body. It flaps once, twice, then rapidly gains momentum and lifts off from Dream’s hand and hurtles off into the forest.

Dream follows, chasing the flickers of bronze through the sparse trees, nimbly jumping from branch to branch with the aid of some wind magic before finally arriving at a clearing.

The manner in which tracker is hovering cautiously at the perimeter combined with the deceptive calm of the area, which is too quiet in a forest otherwise filled with noise, sets Dream immediately on edge. He creeps closer and, after a brief survey of the surroundings, he picks up then hurls a sizable pebble.

It sails through the air, and, as Dream watches, appears to vanish into the air.

A barrier then.

Something that has no issue with foreign objects.

He looks around furtively, but there are no animals in sight. He huffs slightly in annoyance and eyes the tracker for a brief second before deciding that Sapnap will kill him. Still, as Dream is all too keenly aware of Techno’s meticulous nature, the next thing he throws is a small and harmless magical orb filled with liquid.

To test the water.

Ha.

Get it?

This time, the orb bounces off the shield instead of passing through it, and the space it strikes flares a temporary shade of pink before fading into transparency once more.

Dream sighs and adjusts his position so he’s more securely crouched on the tree branch, and after readying himself, throws a set of daggers.

The barrier thrums to life, crackling with red flashes of electricity, but what actually lashes out quickly to obliterate the weapons was something else entirely.

Dream gapes.

“What the fuck,” he mutters as he jumps down so he can better see the still visible barrier and the massive potato plant that’s suddenly erupted from the ground. 

The barrier easily towers over him and, when he turns to look left and right, appears to encompass a wide enough area that it is not even clear what shape the perimeter is. 

Looming eerily in front of Dream, the potato plant also spans an impressive height.

Truly, it is a monstrous thing.

“What the actual fuck,” Dream yells, “Technoblade, what the hell is wrong with you? Magically reinforced potato plants?”

No answer.

Not that Dream had expected anything.

He grits his teeth and considers the merits of blasting his way through the man’s ridiculous defenses, which is mainly that it would allow Dream to rid himself of some stress.

He eyes the gigantic potato plant warily.

“Are you going to eat me?”

It remains still.

Dream groans and, feeling like an absolute fool, shifts closer towards it.

The plant’s large leaves unerringly shift until they’re all carefully pointing in his direction.

It’s unsettling.

Dream steadies himself and launches forward.

He dodges the first few vines, nimbly jumping onto the large tendrils and using them as a stupidly difficult but still viable footpath towards the barrier.

He readies himself for the impact but when he smacks into the shield hard, his breath is still knocked out of him all at once. This is not at all helped when the plant, seeing an opening, quickly grabs a hold of his waist and throws him into a nearby tree.

Dream allows himself to slump where he’s been thrown for a few excruciating minutes, trying to drag air into his lungs despite the lack of cooperation from his chest. His body aches something fierce, and Dream is startled to find that the mounting frustration inside him is tempered by an equally ferocious sense of fear.

Techno is an asshole, Dream acknowledges, but a fucking competent one. If the prince doesn’t want to be disturbed, who knows what lengths he would have gone to hide himself away?

He raises his head to peer at the still glowing barrier, a conspicuous abnormality in the otherwise normal woodland pastiche. 

As he watches, the shield almost appears to pulse, alive in the way that only powerful magic is ever capable of becoming.

Whatever Techno’s done, it is effective, so Dream isn’t going to be able to just walk in.

The tracker settles down on his shoulder with a soft whirring noise.

Dream turns his head towards it.

It clicks its teeth at him before curling back into its normal self.

Just as Dream is reconsidering the benefits of chucking Sapnap’s prized tracker into the volatile potato plant and the unknown shield, a shriek sounds overhead.

Dream does not flinch when the falcon lands on his shoulder this time.

_You fool, you need to train for a hundred years before you can defeat my prized potato plant._

“Seriously?” Dream mutters.

He glares at Techno’s falcon.

It screeches in his face.

Like owner, like pet.

“What?” he bites out, “not like I have a quill or parchment.”

The falcon ignores him to preen at its back feathers.

Dream removes his mask with an annoyed huff. “Technoblade,” he calls out, not moving from his spot, choosing instead to relax against the trunk of the tree instead. His body is still aching. “You can hear me, can’t you?”

The falcon cries out again.

“What,” Dream starts, then growls and rubs at his face, “You, what do you even think you’re doing? Do you know how worried your family is? Why would you leave-”

He stops cold.

Dream is certain that he was about to say ‘us’, had been about to include himself in the equation, had been about to ask why Techno saw fit to leave his family _and Dream_.

Which raises so many questions that he’s not ready to consider.

Dream jumps when the falcon takes off, shortly returning with another message.

_Bruh, the curse was starting to affect others._

“Don’t bruh me,” Dream starts snippily, then deflates when the petty anger immediately drains out of him. “Is this what we’re going to do? Technoblade, for real, I spent days tracking down a random villager, spent more weeks tracking down the damned plant, and spent fucking more time tracking you down and, you what, you want to play pass the parchment, _sire_?”

_Thank you._

Dream stares down at the note, then crumbles it in a tightly clenched fist.

“Come out,” he says evenly, still looking down at his trembling grip, “Technoblade I’m not joking around anymore. Come out.”

_Did she turn back to normal?_

Dream snarls. “Come out you coward.”

The falcon does not leave this time, it hops once on the ground then settles and tucks its wings carefully back into space.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you seriously just going to hide in your stupid barrier this whole time?”

In the ensuing silence, Dream stares stonily at the shield, noticing off-handedly that the pink hue is starting to fade, slowly allowing it to return back to its previous obscure opaqueness. 

The potato plant however, he notices with a grimace, is still very much present. Without an immediate threat, its leaves no longer track his movements, instead returning to their normal positions and drooping carelessly onto the ground.

“How did you get the potato plants to grow this big anyway?”

It might be Dream’s imagination, but Techno’s falcon appears to be a bit put out that it has to move from its position.

_I threatened to burn its leaves off one by one with fire if it didn’t listen. Also, come on, don’t leave me in suspense, did she turn back to normal?_

“If I tell you, will you come out?”

_I assure you that you have no leverage in this situation. In face, if you don’t tell me, I will definitely never come out._

Dream sighs. “She’s fine.”

_Yes, Technoblade is never wrong!_

“Fuck you,” Dream mutters, then louder, “fuck you Technoblade. This is so stupid, also, what happened to trying?”

_Heh!? I did try, how do you think I built this? Not everyone is magically gifted you know, some of us have to work hard for what we have in life._

“You’re a prince, you didn’t have to work for anything,” Dream points out, then purses his lips when he reassesses the statement in light of how hard he knows Techno works to hone his fighting skills, his knowledge of- Dream frowns. “Hey, don’t try to change the topic, pretty certain you promised your family that you would make an effort to romance your true love.”

When it delivers the note this time, the falcon nips hard at Dream’s ear.

“Shit!”

_Yeah, my true love wasn’t interested. Imagine that._

Dream stares down at the note.

“You,” he starts, then stops in genuine befuddlement, “who is this person? They are aware that you’re an actual prince right? And the likely heir to the throne?”

_Not anymore I’m not._

Dream isn’t sure if he’s doing the right thing by pushing, but he is also desperately curious. “What happened?”

_Tried. Got rejected. What else is there to say._

Dream carefully touches the parchment, feeling like his heart was being squeezed in a vice. He chokes out. “You confessed and they said no?”

_This has been so much fun but you should go now._

Dream looks up, and wonders what kind of face Techno might be making just a few feet and a barrier away.

“You can’t stay in there forever,” he says, allowing his head to tilt back until it thuds against the trunk, “you can’t sustain that level of magic.”

_Heh? Are you doubting my skills? You might have been travelling through obscure lands for the past whatever many years, but I’ve been obsessively reading through tomes and tomes of dusty magical theories for the past weeks! I think I know who’s going to end up being right._

Despite everything, Dream still finds himself smiling, allowing a wheezy laugh to escape. “You’re crazy,” he says, “you really think you know more than me?”

_You want to challenge me? Travel for another 200 years!_

“I mean it Technoblade, you can’t sustain this level of magic. There’s always an equivalent exchange and I don’t know what you decided to offer, but to get this amount of magic, it must have been something important.”

_Do I hear you sounding impressed? It’s okay Dream, you can simp for me if you’d like._

Dream grins and is about to retort back when he is suddenly, shockingly, conscious of the fact that this silly banter is the happiest he’s been in weeks. He didn’t even realize how much he had missed being able to joke around with Techno until he got the chance to do so again. Never recognized how much he had wanted to depart from the furious, hurtful confrontations of late and return back to the easy conversations of the past. It’s such a strange revelation that Dream spends the next few seconds just quietly lost in his own thoughts, trying to parse out his own feelings.

He stares at the scribbled words, feeling like pieces of the puzzle are slowly but steadily falling into place.

The jokes from his friends.

The looks and comments from Techno’s family.

The amount of time and resources he’s spent trying to fix this curse.

Dream swallows hard, unwilling to acknowledge the most plausible reason underlying all of those, because thinking it to himself will make it more real.

“I have to go,” he gets out, scrambling up and hastily pulling his mask back on. He doesn’t wait for an answer this time, choosing instead to jump through a portal and shutting it as soon as he’s back at the castle.

His body is still aching something fierce.

But more importantly, his heart is still beating erratically in his chest.

Dream preoccupies himself for the rest of the day by informing the royal family of Techno’s whereabouts, attending yet another tedious meeting with the court of mages, having a brief bite for dinner and visiting Sapnap’s study to drop off the tracker. 

Anything to keep his mind engaged.

It isn’t until, hours later, when he’s finally laying in his bed and staring blankly up at the ceiling, that Techno’s nonplussed falcon glides silently into his room.

_Goodbye._

Dream re-reads the word a few times and in the dark quiet of the night, admits that he might have known what’s been happening for a while now.

Had unconsciously known why he cares so much, why his actions have been so bafflingly out of character as of late, and why Techno always, unfailingly, managed to get under his skin in a way that no one else has ever been able to.

Had known but had been scared to analyze it in detail and had instead tried to deny the creeping realization with pointed and repeated refusals.

As if the growing feelings inside might dissipate if he decried it loudly enough.

He closes his eyes and clutches the small parchment. In the silence of his room, Dream allows himself to take in a deep breath and acknowledge the terrifying truth he had inadvertently realized earlier in the clearing.

He likes Technoblade.

Dream bites back a hysterical laugh.

He likes Technoblade, and Technoblade doesn’t like him back. Instead, the snarky, resilient, stupidly gorgeous prince is going to die because Techno’s true love doesn’t love him back for some unfathomable reason.

His life is a joke.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

It is of little comfort when Techno’s falcon nips him on the arm. He hadn’t noticed the bird had not yet flown off but its presence in his room is just another sign of how badly things have spun out of control.

A somber reminder of the fate Techno has condemned himself to, one where he is locked away in a magically sealed enclosure all alone, counting down the days until the curse takes him.

Honestly, of all the idiots Dream would eventually feel affection for, of course it had to be this one.

Dream wants to be mad at Techno for being such a self sacrificing idiot. Wants to condemn the prince for not being able to rely on others and for thinking that he has to shoulder the weight of the curse alone despite the vast amount of expertise and resources under the royal family’s command. 

That would be the logical emotion.

He is, therefore, rather mortified when all he feels is an exasperated sense of fondness for the other man’s ridiculous sense of protectiveness and loyalty instead.

“I am such a simp.”

Dream isn’t even upset when Techno’s falcon eyes him blandly and nips him again.

He figures that’s the bird’s way of agreeing with him.


End file.
